“You don’t remark or seem to remark upon the people, Anthea,” she was corrected.
“Oh, how can I, Aunt? They’re too small to see!”
“Don’t fret yourself, you’ll soon be close enough to view their faces quite well, I assure you.”
She was indeed, close enough to face the redoubtable wall of respectability represented by Lord and Lady Fortrain, who greeted her formally and Aunt Trudy warmly. It was strange how their formidable aspects dropped when they began to chat with Trudy.
Freed from the constraint of her aunt’s presence, Anthea joined a gaggle of her new friends, to giggle and glance at the gentlemen.
“Oh, do look at young Lord Melchoir, Anthea! They say he has twenty thousand a year, and squanders it all in utter dissipation!”
Anthea stared. “One would never think it, to look at him. He looks quite the picture of health and virtue!”
Ermingarde gave a peal of laughter. “Virtue! The only virtue he may have is whatever he steals! Yet they say that Lord Delbert, who makes every attempt to appear the absolute rake, is actually quite honorable in private!”
“Oh?” Anthea smiled. “And how would they know of his private affairs?”
“My dear, affairs can never be truly private! Except, perhaps, for those of Mr. Crafter, there.”
“Oh, but he is not truly a gentleman!” Jane objected. “Truly, he may be quite wealthy—but not a cent of it was he born with—it is all come from trade!”
“Nevertheless,” Sophie said, “he comes of good family. His cousin is a baronet, after all.”
“But such a distant cousin, my dear! And this Crafter is actually from the Colonies! America, of all places! Really, one cannot but think he would be more at home in moccasins and a hat made of some small animal than in cutaway and breeches!”
Anthea eyed the young man in question, seeing blond hair with a surprisingly dark skin, standing by himself, quite self-contained, but with an air of interest that seemed somehow forced.
“American? Is he a spy, then? They favor Napoleon?”
“No, by some irony, he served in Her Majesty’s Navy, they say—but one never knows, does one? After all, it has been only years since we began the war with the French! If you can call the current situation a war,” Ermingarde said as an afterthought.
There was something vaguely sinister about the young man, Anthea thought. “Is he the only eligible bachelor who is not leading a secret life of dissipation?”
Her friends giggled, and the conversation turned to speculation as to who would dance with whom. It was short-lived, however, as one by one, the young men came over to bow and praise, and ask for the compliment of a dance. Before long, Anthea’s friends were whirling away to the music, each with several dances already bespoken. Anthea watched and smiled, and tried not to feel too envious.
“Miss Gosling.”
Anthea looked up, startled. “Lady Fortrain!”
The imposing dowager forced a slight smile. “May I present Mr. Roman Crafter, late of the exotic lands of the East.”
The young man bowed, and Anthea suppressed a slight shiver. So close, she found that he fairly exuded an air of worldliness which she found more repulsive than attractive.
“Your aunt has told me of your interest in geography,” Lady Fortrain went on, “so I thought you might wish to learn of Mr. Crafter’s experiences in India.”
“India! Oh yes, Lady Fortrain, thank you! Really, Mr. Crafter, how did you come to India?”
The grave young man gazed directly into her eyes with such a deep and probing look that Anthea had to suppress a shiver. “It was in the course of private curiosity, Miss Gosling, though it came to be on the King’s business.”
Lady Fortrain smiled benevolently and moved on. Anthea rather wished she hadn’t; there was something decidedly unsettling about Mr. Crafter. Perhaps the steady gaze of those large, surprisingly light gray eyes, so fitting beneath the mane of ash-blond hair—or perhaps it was his excessive leanness, or the bronze hue of his skin. All in all, he gave the impression of someone left out in the sun too long, which he may well have been. Most probably, though, it was the aura of almost fanatical intensity that seemed to surround him like a cloak.
But he was immaculately dressed, his neckcloth pristine and precisely folded, and she certainly had his undivided attention. “I confess to puzzlement, Mr. Crafter. How could private curiosity turn to royal affairs?”
“By the press of events, Miss Gosling. But really, may we dance while I tell you of it? I should very much like to.”
“Why, thank you.” Anthea took Crafter’s arm and stepped out onto the floor, repressing a shudder at his touch. As they began to move through the paces of the dance, his eyes never left hers, and to ward off his intensity, she pressed. “Do go on, Mr. Crafter. What were these events that took you to India?”
“That was a matter of trade, Miss Gosling, as much as of curiosity.”
She was surprised at his boldness in so openly admitting to being in trade. He seemed almost brazen, in fact. “Trade, Mr. Crafter? Has your family no land, then?”
“Why yes, a considerable amount, and they are ever acquiring more, I understand—though it’s rather inaccessible to me, being in America.”
Brazen indeed! Would he proceed to tell her to which spymaster he reported? And why did he make no mention of his English relations?
“I was chosen to serve in His Majesty’s Navy,” Crafter explained, “and given very little choice in the matter.”
“You mean you were—impressed?” She was shocked—and somewhat thrilled.
“My father was, actually—we were passengers aboard a ship bound for Jamaica. The captain of the man-of-war that overhauled us thought Father would do splendidly as an able-bodied seaman, never mind that he was en route to represent the Government of the United States in a Crown colony—and thought I would do as a powder monkey, being only ten at the time.”
“A common seaman?” Anthea gasped.
“Not willingly, I assure you. I was privileged to take part in the battle of Trafalgar, though I can’t claim to have seen anything but the powder supplies and tunnels, and the wounded. Through a rather unique set of circumstances, I was fortunate enough to be able to contact some relations of mine ... .”
“Not a baronet, by chance.”
“Ah, you have an ear for the gossip! Yes, I’ve a cousin of that rank, though it was the squire in Ireland who bought a commission for me. That protected me from the worst of the life of a foremast hand, and gave me a pittance to save in the bargain. I sold out when I attained my majority, repaid my cousin, and invested in the British East India Company.”
Anthea found it interesting to note that there was an Irish cousin that gossip did not speak of—but then, one frequently didn’t speak of the Irish. “How did this lead you to India, though?”
“I desired to be sure my money was being put to good use.”
“To be sure of it! Really, sir, if one cannot trust the East India Company to increase one’s money, whom can one trust?”
“No one, I begin to think—for the mismanagement and nest-feathering I witnessed were quite disheartening. I determined to take a hand in affairs, and managed to impose some discipline—but in the process, I became an informal envoy to a rajah’s court.”
“A rajah!” Anthea breathed, all agog.
“A small one,” Crafter temporized, “though his palace was large enough, and had the requisite peacocks to announce visitors—and if I can’t speak of piles of jewels to either hand, I can at least assert that his wives did seem to be entrusted with a substantial portion of his capital.”