Bronwyn Scott - Breaking the Rake's Rules

Quite frankly, being a lady was boring, a discovery she’d made her first Season out. She preferred to think she was far more adventurous than dancing twice with the same man at a ball. She also preferred to think she was more like the woman she’d been on the balcony. However, she was smart enough to know that woman, full of fire and passion, had no place at a dining table full of her father’s potential business partners. As much as it chafed, tonight she had to play the lady.

She and her father had only been ashore for three days and everyone was eager to make their acquaintance given her father’s mission. The men gathered at the Crenshaws’ this evening were the influential cream of Bridgetown society, the men with connections and knowledge that would be critical in carrying out the crown’s charter.

These were the men she needed to impress, not sweaty, blond rogues caught in the likely act of housebreaking. The man today was nothing more than a common criminal and she’d carried on like a common hussy with him. No matter how exciting he might have been, such behaviour was not what her father needed from her. He would be scandalised if he knew what had transpired. She supposed she should be disappointed in herself. She’d set aside the teachings of girlhood at the merest temptation. But when that temptation kissed like her balcony god, it was hard to be penitent.

Bryn sipped from her wine glass and smiled at the man on her right, a Mr Selby, very aware that he was trying to sneak a glimpse of her bosom while he talked about the island’s sights. Heaven forbid he actually talk about banking with a woman. She had the impression her unexpected visitor wouldn’t make such a distinction. He’d talk about whatever he liked, with whomever he liked. Kitt-with-no-last-name wouldn’t ‘sneak’ a peek at her bosom, he’d make no secret of appreciating it with a rather frank and forthright blue-gazed assessment.

‘What do you think, Miss Rutherford?’ Mr Selby asked, catching her unawares.

‘I’m sorry, about what?’ Bryn apologised, trying to look penitent, an emotion she was apparently having difficulty conjuring with any sincerity tonight.

He smiled patiently, too much of a gentleman to protest her inattention, but not too much of a gentleman to look down her dress. ‘About a picnic. I thought you might enjoy a tour of the parish.’

Coward. The man from the balcony would have made her accountable for her distraction. The thought of how he might do that sent a pleasant shiver down her spine. Then again, if it had been him, her attention wouldn’t have lapsed in the first place.

‘I would, although perhaps it could wait until Father and I are settled. There’s quite a lot to do at the moment with unpacking.’ She smiled and turned back to Orville, signalling the discussion was closed.

* * *

It became the pattern of the evening. Bryn listened intently, and responded appropriately, playing the dinner game adequately if not adroitly. By the time the cheese course arrived, signalling the end of dinner, she’d come to the disappointing conclusion evenings here weren’t unlike the evenings in London. She’d hoped they would be different. She’d hoped the men would be different, too.

A little smile tugged at her lips. In that regard, at least one of them was. She wondered if she’d see him again or how she could see him again. Perhaps he ran a business in town? Perhaps it was possible to arrange a chance meeting? She almost laughed aloud at that. Her logic was failing her. He’d given her no last name, very likely on purpose. Men like him didn’t want to be found. Her balcony Romeo was no businessman. Just a few minutes ago she was thinking him a criminal. Besides, businessmen looked like Mr Orville on her left, they simply didn’t look like Kitt : part-beach god, part-pirate.

Be careful where your thoughts are leading you, her conscience warned. This is a new start for your father. Your father needs you. You can’t run around risking a scandal. This is too important for him. Besides, you promised.

But it’s a new start for me, too , her heart argued in return. She could have stayed in London with relatives where life was safe and predictable. She’d had enough of that. If she was discreet, perhaps there would be a way to have both. After all, was it wrong to want a little adventure? She’d been good for so very long. Years, in fact. Surely she was due some reward.

Eleanor Crenshaw, their hostess, rose, indicating the ladies should follow her into the drawing room. Bryn gathered her skirts and cast a last glance up the table where her father was nodding and answering questions. She hoped it was going well. She still didn’t know quite how her father had managed the royal appointment. She suspected well-meaning relatives had had a hand in it. Her father’s older brother was the Earl of Creighton and well-connected politically.

It wasn’t that she doubted her father’s abilities. Even as a younger son, he’d had his own ambitions, albeit they’d always been more of a local bent. Still, she wasn’t sure it was fair to equate his experience as a country financier on the same level as the banking interests of an empire. She adored her father. She didn’t want to see him set up to fail, but this had not been a consideration when the mighty Rutherfords had lobbied for the lucrative post to Bridgetown. They’d seen only the advantages.

Her father’s success would see the Rutherfords strategically placed to take advantage of the crown’s banking monopoly in the Caribbean. It served the grand Rutherford design to send her father overseas to expand the family interests, but Bryn hoped for more than that from this appointment. She hoped the change would give him a chance to rebuild his life after the death of his wife. For over a year her father had moped about, showing interest in nothing since her mother’s death. It was time for him to move on. He was too vibrant, too intelligent of a man to simply give up on life when there was still much he could do for his family and for others.

The ladies’ conversation in the drawing room politely danced around that very issue with feminine delicacy. What could her father do for their husbands? How much authority did her father have to act on his own? Was her father going to run some of his own investments? Bryn hoped not, if for no other reason than she wanted him to start slow, follow the crown’s directive to the letter and complete his mission with success. It was simple enough if he stuck to the plan. But she also knew his brother had encouraged him to make some private investments as well.

Bryn was about to turn the conversation a different direction and ask about the empty chair at the dinner table when a footman entered. The man whispered something to her hostess, bringing a smile to the woman’s face. ‘By all means, Bradley, show him in.’ She beamed at the women seated around her. It was the smug smile of a woman who has just pulled off a social coup. Bridgetown or London, apparently the look was universal. ‘Our dear captain has arrived.’

Everyone burst into smiles and there were even a few titters behind painted fans. Good Lord, this Captain Whoever-he-was had the women acting positively swoony, even the married ones who ought to know better. To Bryn’s left, the daughter of one of the women—a Miss Caroline Bryant—blushed and looked down at her hands in an attempt at modesty. Bryn thought it only a moderate effort at subtly calling attention to herself and whatever she wished the gesture to imply about her and the captain. In London, a girl Miss Bryant’s age would have been out for a few Seasons and far better schooled in the art of dissembling.

‘Ladies,’ the footman intoned, coming back into the room, ‘Captain Christopher Sherard.’