Playing the Rake's Game (Rakes Of The Caribbean Book 1)

by Bronwyn Scott

  ‘I’d invite you in, but I’m busy today,’ Emma said sharply, making apology for her breach in social manners.

  ‘Never mind about me, you go on with your business. As I said, I’m not really here for you.’ He gave another of his winks to indicate a friendly joke. ‘I’m here to see Dryden and give him the lay of the land. We’ll stay out of your way, just send a pitcher of falernum to the back porch where we can have a nice long visit.’ He slapped Ren on the back. ‘I’ll give him a proper welcome to the neighbourhood.’

  ‘A proper welcome?’ Ren shot her a discreet glance and she could almost hear the private laughter in Ren’s voice, laughter that was there just for her, some inside humour only the two of them shared. ‘I think I’d like that very much.’ The inside joke made Arthur Gridley a momentary outsider and in a subtle way let her know she had an ally.

  Emma could feel the beginnings of a smile play on her lips. It could just be part of a larger strategy Ren was playing, but for now it felt good to know he had her back. It was certainly a new way to view Ren’s presence and it just might provide the new gambit she was looking for. The enemy of my enemy is my friend. For now.

  * * *

  Enemy? Friend? Concerned neighbour or ambitious interloper? It was hard to know how to classify Sir Arthur Gridley. Ren took a seat in one of the twin rockers on the veranda, gathering his thoughts. Emma certainly didn’t care for the man. But was that dislike or fear she felt? What was she hiding that Gridley might expose? All in all, Ren thought it would make a rather insightful afternoon.

  ‘What do you think of our little piece of the world so far?’ Gridley stretched out his legs, settling into his chair and looking quite comfortable at a home not his own. He’d said he was Merrimore’s close friend. In all fairness, he was probably used to being here, but the action struck Ren as overtly territorial, the tactic of a man who wants to remind everyone of his superior claim to ownership.

  ‘It’s hot,’ Ren replied affably. It couldn’t hurt to be nice. Knowledge was power and Gridley would want to demonstrate his. If Ren played this right, Gridley would talk all afternoon, thinking he was establishing his ground, when in reality Ren would get precisely what he wanted—information.

  Ren had learned years ago it was the listener who held the upper hand when navigating the social waters of the ton. He had to start making friends in this new place. He wanted those friends to be the right ones. He had a hunch there might be wrong ones and he still had to figure out where Emma fit into the balance. Who to trust? The supposedly crazy woman running Sugarland or the well-dressed, seemingly well-intentioned neighbour?

  ‘It is hot, in an entirely different way than London,’ Gridley agreed. ‘You’ll get used to it. We have our rainy seasons and our fever seasons, but it’s not a bad way to live. There’s no cold, no ice, no grey skies that go on for months.’ Gridley was all friendly assurance.

  A servant brought a tray carrying a pitcher full of an amber liquid and two glasses. She set it down on the little table between them and poured. ‘You’ll like falernum,’ Gridley said. ‘It’s sweet, full of spices and a hint of vanilla.’

  Ren sipped tentatively, relieved Gridley was right. He could pick out the hints of ginger and almond, even a bit of lime. ‘It is good.’

  Gridley chuckled. ‘You sound surprised. Don’t be. Emma has the best falernum on the island, there’s something about how her cook mixes it.’ Gridley sighed and dropped his voice. ‘Emma has the best of everything. The best cook, the best field manager, the best overseer, the best household staff. It’s made her some enemies and I’m worried for her. I’m glad you’re here. Perhaps you can talk sense into her.’

  Gridley slid him a sideways glance, no doubt looking for compliance. But Ren was more astute than that. He needed information before he made any decisions about his support. Ren decided to play the ‘fresh off the boat’ card. ‘I’m afraid I don’t quite understand what you mean?’

  ‘Of course not, no one expects you to. We’ll show you the ropes around here. You’ll get the hang of how we do things in no time at all.’ Gridley gave him another friendly smile, but Ren was cautious.

  ‘I’d appreciate that,’ he said neutrally. Ren was starting to wonder if Gridley had come of his own accord or if the neighbours had elected him to be the one to call and sound out the newcomer. He was used to this discreet vetting process. It wasn’t all that different from the way the gentlemen’s clubs tested a member’s viability in London.

  ‘It’s not Emma’s fault.’ Gridley was quick to establish. ‘It’s the damn apprentice system. It looks good on paper, but it’s costing the planters a small fortune in profits and there’s hardly enough labour to go around.’

  Ren raised an eyebrow in query, hoping Gridley would take it as a sign to elaborate on the process. Gridley took the hint and continued. ‘Under the new system, former slaves can choose if they wish to work on the plantations and they can choose which plantations. We can’t compel them to do it. Naturally, they want to work for the places that pay more and demand they do less.’ The complaint against Emma was implied in the comment. ‘She might as well tuck them all in with quilts and feed them meat three times a day.’ Gridley chuckled, but Ren heard the contempt beneath the humour. ‘You saw such a display yesterday with the afternoon off over the obeah doll.’

  ‘You disapprove of such equity?’ Ren asked, eyeing Gridley carefully. Something more was at work here in his social call. Was his ulterior agenda political? Economic? Social?

  ‘I disapprove when those choices jeopardise one’s neighbours’ ability to make a decent living,’ Gridley answered squarely. Ren shot a quick glance at Gridley’s expensive boots. He didn’t think Emma’s choices were hurting Gridley too much.

  Gridley dismissed the harshness of his comment with a wave of his hand. ‘Emma doesn’t know better. She’s too kind-hearted and impulsive as well, not the best combination for business. She doesn’t see the big picture—the consequences her actions have for all of us.’ There was anger and heat in the man’s words.

  Ren felt himself bristle at the cut to Emma’s character. It was a strangely protective reaction to have towards a woman who had made it clear she was intent on disliking him. Still, what sort of neighbour maligned another in her own home? ‘Perhaps you judge her too harshly,’ Ren offered in Emma’s defence. ‘She believes she’s doing the best she can to sustain the property.’

  Gridley’s demeanour became intensely serious. ‘She doesn’t quite grasp the larger implications. It is us against them and they have us vastly outnumbered. If we don’t stick together, they’ll be asking for seats in the assembly next or taking them outright.’ The voracity of his comment was almost disturbing.

  Ren understood the reference. The white plantocracy was outflanked by the ex-slave population by nearly ten to one. The sheer numbers created a certain unrelieved tension between the two groups. The plantocracy minority held all the legitimate power, but the ex-slave faction held the overwhelming majority of force should they attempt to exercise it.

  Rebellion, successful rebellion, was possible, even likely. He knew from talk in London that other islands in the West Indies had experienced such rebellions. There were people like Gridley who believed such rebellion against the legitimate power was inevitable, their only weapon being the ability to legislate punitive codes to keep rebellion at bay.

  Even though Ren understood the motivation for the plantocracy’s logic, he could not condone it. His position was something he apparently had in common with Emma. It was also something that would not endear him to Arthur Gridley and his other neighbours if his position were known. Caution suggested he wait to reveal his feelings on the subject.

  ‘Perhaps if people work together they might find a middle ground.’ Ren put the unformed idea forward. He didn’t want to lie to Gridley or profess to hold an opinion he heartily disagreed with. Howev
er, he had navigated the shoals of London society long enough to know there were bridges one couldn’t afford to burn. If Emma had already burned hers, he needed to maintain his for Sugarland’s sake. He was staunchly in favour of the decision to abolish slavery and even of reallocating seats in the assembly to more accurately reflect the population.

  Gridley’s response was curt and immediate. ‘I don’t know that there’s any middle ground to be had, or any ground at all. I mean that quite literally. Once you’ve seen the island in its fullness, you’ll understand. We don’t have any unowned land. It’s all claimed. The freemen want to work their own land, but where would that be? There’s no land for them to buy, no land to give them, without breaking up the existing plantations.’ There was a defensive gleam in his eye that belied the intensity of his convictions.

  Ah, illumination. Land was the real threat, the real fear, that somehow Britain would legislate land be taken from the planters. Ren nodded thoughtfully, allowing Gridley to pour him another glass of falernum. Ren had no doubt if that came to pass, Arthur Gridley would meet people at the door with a gun.

  ‘But enough of politics, you’ll learn all that,’ Gridley said, his earlier bonhomie returning in a sudden wave of good humour. The man definitely possessed a mercurial range of emotions. One moment he was serious, almost fanatical in his commitment to his positions, the next he was easygoing. ‘As for Emma doing the best she can, that’s another issue. We all understand she has a huge responsibility. It doesn’t have to be that way. She needn’t shoulder the burden of Sugarland alone, but she refuses to listen to reason.’

  By ‘we’ Ren supposed Gridley referred to the neighbours, all of them male. ‘What sort of reason?’ Ren asked, although he could already guess how their brand of reason had gone over with Emma. Even on short acquaintance he knew she would see the solutions as infringements on her independence.

  ‘The usual,’ Gridley said sobering. ‘I was close with Albert Merrimore, especially during his last year. He was worried for Emma and what would become of her. He knew his time was limited. I promised him I would be there for her. If she wanted to go to London, I’d see it done. If she wanted to stay here, I promised him I’d make it possible. We were neighbours, our plantations abut one another, of course I’d watch over his charge.’

  ‘And the options you put to Emma?’ Ren steered the conversation back towards his original question. ‘What did she want?’

  ‘She wanted to stay.’ Gridley gave a sad smile. ‘A woman cannot be out here alone trying to run a plantation without all nature of hardship, so I offered her marriage and she refused.’ His eyes met Ren’s, convincingly full of a man’s regret that something he valued had slipped through his fingers. ‘I shall ask again once she has found her centre. In my eagerness to fulfil my promise to Albert, I rushed my fences. I see that now. She was grieving, she was sorting through the estate and the will.’ He shot Ren a wry look. ‘She was adjusting to the news that a relative was coming who’d been given the majority of the shares. She was in no state to appreciate what a proposal would mean to her.’

  This was what Gridley had really come to discuss. He was staking his claim to Emma. Ren assessed Arthur Gridley with new eyes. This was a man who was more than a neighbour, even more than a random suitor who fancied Emma. He’d been a family intimate with Cousin Merry. He had attempted to wed Merry’s ward and meant to try his luck again, regardless of Emma’s rather obvious feelings on the subject.

  Even if Emma professed undying love for Gridley, allowing such a thing to happen was not in Ren’s best interests as long as Emma held the other portion of ownership. It provoked the question of what drove Gridley’s persistence. It was an academic question only. Ren could not allow Gridley’s persistence to win out.

  His protective streak rose, coupled this time with a competitive urge. This wasn’t only about protecting Emma, but about protecting himself and his family. If Emma married Gridley, Ren would have to share the estate with him. It was not an idea he liked. It was one thing to drink a casual glass of falernum with the man, but it was another to make him a business partner and tie his family’s interests to Gridley’s. The prospect sat ill with Ren. His sixth sense told him that was not what his cousin had intended. He supposed he could buy out her share. He wondered if Gridley would still want her if she was without property...

  ‘That’s where you come in, Dryden,’ Gridley was saying as Ren dragged his thoughts back to the conversation. He must have missed the beginning.

  ‘How is that, exactly?’ Ren asked obliquely.

  Gridley have a short chuckle. ‘You’re to help her see reason, show her the best options for Sugarland. She can’t go it alone forever without risking the plantation’s viability.’ There was a dark glint in Gridley’s eye and Ren wondered if he referred to a risk that had less to do with Emma’s ability to make agricultural decisions and more to do with what might be termed her ‘personal welfare’.

  ‘I will do my best to live up to my cousin’s faith in me,’ Ren said honestly, although his best might not lead to the decisions Gridley was hoping for. Ren took the opportunity to rise, signalling their conversation had come to a close. He had quite enough to digest. Gridley had discharged his duty to the so-far-anonymous neighbours quite well. All that needed to be shared had been shared and any necessary warnings had been given. Perhaps even more than was necessary. Were the neighbours astute enough to know that Gridley would advocate for himself as well as them? Gridley’s measure was clear. He was a man who did what benefited him.

  Gridley shook his hand. ‘It’s good to meet you, Dryden. I want to have a dinner for you, give you a chance to meet everyone. I’ll set it up and let Emma know.’

  ‘I will look forward to it.’ Ren showed Gridley out, understanding that the next move was up to him. Gridley had initiated, had laid out the rules of the game. Gridley and the neighbours would wait to see what his response would be. They could be in for a surprise. He might not know much about sugar cane, but he knew a little something about navigating society, especially when a game was afoot. If Emma Ward thought she had everything under control, she needed to think again.

  Chapter Six

  She had everything under control. Emma took a deep breath and moved her pip on the backgammon board, embracing the silent mantra that had sustained her throughout the evening. Everything was going to be fine. Not just the game but everything: the harvest, Arthur Gridley’s unwanted attention, the plantation. She was balancing a rather precarious load just now, not counting the arrival of Ren Dryden.

  One false step and it would all come tumbling down. But it wouldn’t. It simply couldn’t. To lose Sugarland was unthinkable. To allow Gridley to triumph, even more so. She told herself it was a good sign Ren hadn’t run to her immediately after Gridley had left. It meant there was no need to worry. Right? Ren had said nothing during dinner. They’d talked about the plantation and adjourned here to the library for backgammon.

  Across from her, Ren critically surveyed the board, jiggling the dice in his dice cup. ‘Double would be useful about now. I won’t get off the bar without at least one five.’ It was the only open point he could move to. She’d completely blocked out her field.

  ‘You’ll never get it.’ Emma laughed, feeling confident she would have the advantage for another turn. She was starting to relax and enjoy the novelty of having someone to share the evening with. Surely, if something had alarmed Ren he would have brought it up by now.

  ‘You’re a very cocky minx, Emma Ward.’ Ren grinned, looking devastating in the lamplight. He’d dressed for dinner, but he’d shed his coat when they’d begun to play. She’d thought he’d been handsome in his evening attire. He was far more attractive in his shirt and waistcoat, his cufflinks set aside, his sleeves rolled up.

  The gesture had created a sense of domestic intimacy and a domestic fantasy, too; a glimpse of what life might be like for a hu
sband and wife spending a quiet evening at home after a busy day with the plantation. He was a master indeed if he could conjure such images for her with the simple gesture of removing a coat.

  If there wasn’t so much on the line, the plantation, her own future; if she didn’t have to be vigilant regarding any covert game Ren might be playing with her, she would have allowed herself to fall for him. It had been a long time since she’d let herself fall. Surely, she’d learned enough in the interim to fall safely, to enjoy the fantasy.

  Without the trappings of her present circumstances, an affair with Ren Dryden would be a delightful diversion. As it was, at this point it could only be a dangerous diversion, a delusion. ‘Are you going to roll?’ Emma prompted with a sly smile. ‘Staring at the board won’t change anything.’

  Ren sat back in his chair, his eyes on her. ‘You are so sure I won’t roll double fives. Why don’t we wager on it? If I get double fives, I claim a forfeit. If I don’t, you claim the forfeit.’ He shook the cup and then halted, his eyes dancing with mischief. ‘The forfeit should be something little, Emma. No property, no crazy requests that either of us abdicate our percentage of the plantation. I don’t imagine you’d be terribly good at cards, my dear. Your thoughts are written all your pretty face.’

  Emma feigned indignation over the teasing. ‘Very well, I’ll take your bet. I’m already thinking of all the “little” things you can do for me. It’s just so hard to choose one.’ The banter was almost enough to take her mind off her real worries: what had Gridley told him this afternoon? What was Ren thinking about her now? What sort of poison had Gridley added to the proverbial well?