*
By the time Robert went down to dinner, he was sure he had served Miss Whitfield well in regard to the marriage contract. He knew that Lord Aldershot would wish to add unforeseen clauses—negotiation was fairly standard in these kinds of dealings—but Robert also knew that Mr. Lynch would find his notes thorough.
However, rather than sporting any sense of satisfaction, Robert was afflicted with an odd state of the dismals. The condition had begun in the morning room while they were discussing the union of the two estates. Somehow it didn’t seem right; he felt the need to protest, but on what grounds he couldn’t say. Perhaps this undefined melancholy had nothing to do with Miss Whitfield’s nuptials but stemmed from the incompletion of his original task—that of clarifying the problems with the estate management.
Yes, that had to be it. He would corner both Drury and Mr. Kemble in the morning and then return to Bath with the situation, if not solved, at least better understood. Yes, he would lose this sense of sadness as soon as he returned to Bath.
And yet, even that thought brought no sense of release. Distancing himself from Roseberry Hall was no longer a priority. He quite liked the lively conversation to be found within its walls. Robert had a sneaking suspicion it had more to do with the way he felt when his eyes met those of Miss Whitfield than with bricks and mortar.
The footman, Hugh, opened the drawing room door with a flourish, ushering him in. The ladies were waiting, dressed in their finery and ready to be taken down to dinner. Lydia—as he was beginning to call Miss Whitfield in his mind—had warned him that dinner was usually a formal affair but that he was not to feel uncomfortable about not having a dress coat. There was nothing he could do about it; he had not planned to join the family for dinner and could not pull an evening coat out of his satchel when one had not been put in.
Still, while the party of women—for there was no sign of Mr. Kemble—was in full evening gowns, Lydia wore an elegant but simple dress of pale green-gray that was cut to form. It was clear that Lydia had done him a kindness in her restrained mode of dress, to make him feel comfortable. But in doing so, she stood out as an antithesis to her relatives’ ostentation and Miss Shipley’s lacy gown.
“I’m afraid we have a problem this evening,” Mrs. Whitfield greeted him with a nod of acknowledgment. “Gentlemen are in short supply. It will be even worse when Ivy and Tessa are out of the schoolroom.”
“It’s a problem that we have every evening, Aunt Joan,” Miss Elaine tittered. There was no other apt descriptor; it was definitely a titter.
Robert said nothing.
“Indeed, it is true.” Mrs. Whitfield glanced at Mrs. Kemble for confirmation. Once given, the conversation continued. “We had hoped to have the arms of two gentlemen to lead us into dinner, but … Well, I suppose Arthur can be forgiven for picking today, of all days, to visit the Major. Major Ryder has been his dearest friend for … I’d say two decades now; although, they seldom get together. His wife passed away some years ago, and the Major lives a bachelor lifestyle that some consider—”
“Mama.”
“Yes, Lydia dear. Oh, am I doing it again? Yes, well. I am told by some, Mr. Newton, that I have a tendency to veer off topic. I don’t see it at all, as my late husband had no problem following my conversation. In fact, he often said—”
“Mama.”
“Oh, yes, for heaven’s sake. Where was I?”
“I believe you were lamenting the lack of male company.” Robert smiled in what he hoped was a benign manner.
“Oh, yes. That’s right. Well, it would be traditional that you would take me into dinner, as the only gentleman present and I, the mistress of the house.”
Robert did his best not to look toward Lydia at that pronouncement.
“But that would not be fair to the other ladies—and rather selfish of me. And I will not have it said that I am a selfish person, for I am quite interested in charity. The president of the Children’s Educational Society has often complimented me on my good heart. Just last week, we—”
“Mama.”
“So over time, we have developed a system—a way to share, as it were.”
“We have?” Lydia’s surprise hinted at a little prevarication.
“Yes, we have. And it’s Elaine’s turn tonight.”
Miss Elaine was no longer tittering but grinning. She tipped her head to the side and batted her eyes in a manner, one can only assume, she considered coquettish.
Neither was appealing, but Robert knew his duty; he bowed to the young lady in question, observed that the yellow of her gown suited her complexion admirably, and offered her his arm.
On their way down the stairs, Robert inquired after her enjoyment of the day and the progress of her needlework, and he offered the possibility of rain on the morrow. Miss Elaine laughed at most, if not all, of his comments—even those about the weather. She wove her fingers together atop his arm, thereby turning her body and drawing Robert closer. It would seem that Lydia’s cousin was a determined flirt.
After leading Miss Elaine to her chair, Robert placed himself farther down the table, next to Miss Shipley. However, Mrs. Whitfield was not satisfied with the arrangement; she required the whole of the company to move. Only when Robert was once again at Miss Elaine’s side did the seating plan obtain Mrs. Whitfield’s approval. Fortunately, this secured him the position across from Lydia.
Though, try as he might, he could not ease the furrows from her brow. He spent the first two courses wordless, trying to understand the cause of her discontent. It wasn’t until they were enjoying the third course that the conversation gained his full attention.
“So you will have property one day?” Mrs. Kemble continued her questioning, which was beginning to feel more like an interrogation than a conversation. “You won’t have to work all those terrible hours to the end of your days.”
Running the discussion back through his mind, Robert could not find any reference to terrible hours. It was true enough, though, and he could only assume that Mrs. Kemble knew someone in the legal profession.
“Slotten House is a pretty but small manor in Worrington, Salisbury way.”
“Excellent. Yes, excellent, very good. That is only fifteen or so miles from here.” She glanced significantly at her daughter and nodded.
“Actually, I believe it is closer to twenty-three miles, give or take.” He waved a pointed finger toward the window as if it were visible in the distance.
“And why is it that your brother is living at Slotten House, not you?”