“Shelley had impressed upon me the need to speak with your uncle—and none other. Particularly not your mother.” He glanced at his wife for confirmation.
“I was fairly certain that your mother’s reaction would hinder rather than help us in our search,” Shelley explained with candor.
Lydia tried not to wince.
“I spoke to your butler, Shodster I believe is his name,” Edward continued. “And assured him of the dire nature of this need. He imparted the circumstances of the ladies’ return and informed me that Mr. Kemble was with a gentleman referred to as the Major. I tried to track them down, going from his … the Major’s rooms in Spelding … to the nearest drinking establishments—of which there are three. But to no avail. I returned to Bath unsuccessful and thoroughly exasperated.”
Lydia refrained from commenting on the drinking habits of her uncle but shook her head in solidarity—in regard to Edward’s exasperation and bluntness.
“But before heading back to Pepney, I sent a message by way of the night coach to London. I imagine a Bow Street Runner will arrive here in a few days to help us find you.” He lifted his mouth into a ghost of a smile that held no levity or pleasure.
“I am heartened to know that my mother is not frantic with concern, but…” Lydia paused. She was rather disconcerted by her family’s lack of interest in her whereabouts. Did they value her so little—not that she wanted them to be anxious … but to have not noticed her absence?
“Perhaps they assumed that you and Cora undertook an impromptu jaunt to visit me.” Shelley must have seen the furrow of Lydia’s brow. “After all, we have not seen one another in a couple of months.”
“True, that is a possibility. And I should not question Providence’s wisdom—better that my disappearance went undetected, my reputation untarnished. All is well, and as it should be. But don’t you find it peculiar that Barley, Lord Aldershot, did not arrive for our appointment, either?” Lydia turned to Robert for her answer.
“Indeed.” He met her gaze and mirrored her frown. “Too smoky by half, if you ask me. It will be interesting to hear why.” He glanced toward Edward. “Good to know about the Runner. He should be of great assistance catching the villains.”
Edward nodded. “I will send him to you as soon as he arrives.” Then, a true smile spread across his face. “And now, perhaps we should let you two retire; you look done to death.”
Lydia nodded and glanced over her shoulder to the door. It seemed so far away.… And then there would be stairs to negotiate, the process of undressing, and a bed to climb. The settee was comfortable; perhaps she would stay there. And as Lydia contemplated the whys and wherefores of sleeping in a drawing room, she recalled that there was one last subject that had to be addressed before her brain could rest. “What of how I arrived here? We should present a unified story if we want it to pass muster with all the gossips.”
“Whatever do you mean, dearest friend?” Shelley offered Lydia her hands. “You arrived with Cora just after five. We had a wonderful roast beef dinner, with chowder to start. You commented most favorably on the custard and plum pudding.” She hauled Lydia to her feet. “Though I am heartily sorry that the wine slipped and ruined your pretty gown. Something will be found for you to wear in the morning, after you are well rested.”
Lydia smiled her thanks, too tired to articulate the words, and followed Shelley and Cora out of the drawing room and its comfortable settee.
*
Robert watched Lydia ascending the stairs ahead of him. Though he could barely put one foot in front of the other, he was at the ready should she lose her balance, trip, or simply drop from exhaustion. Overseeing her well-being had been his purpose for so many hours; he couldn’t let go—not yet.
It was almost miraculous the way the end of the day had unfolded—in complete contrast to the beginning … middle. Whatever. His mind was so befogged by fatigue; he could hardly form an articulate thought.
Upon reaching the second floor, the party split up along gender lines. Edward guided Robert down the corridor to the right, while the ladies veered to the left. He hadn’t gone much more than a few paces when a soft voice called him back.
“Rob—Mr. Newton, might I have a word?”
Robert glanced over his shoulder. Lydia’s worried expression cut through his fatigue, and he immediately swiveled, returning to her side in a trice.
“Is all well?” he asked in a half whisper, glancing about to see that her friends, while still nearby, were being discreet in their distance—allowing them a semiprivate conversation.
“Yes, oh yes, of course. No, I just … well, I doubt I will have another chance to thank you.… And even if I do, I think it best to express myself earlier rather than later.… Because I would hate to think that you did not know…”
Robert smiled and felt an unexpected tightness in the vicinity of his heart. There was nothing that he wished more than to pull Lydia into his arms, hold her for an eon or two, kiss the top of her leaf-encrusted hair—or better yet, her luscious lips—and assure her that their friendship was forged and strong and that nothing—such as an unexpressed thank-you—would ever cause a rift between them. Because he did know how honored he was to be her friend. “I do know,” he said simply. They stared at each other for several minutes, until a small smile grew and transformed Lydia’s face.
Breath taken by the change, Robert wondered how Mr. Lynch had ever considered this beauty anything other than … beautiful. And how Lord Aldershot could not know that his soon-to-be betrothed was fascinating, intelligent, and brave. The man should be thanking his lucky stars that Oliver Whitfield had chosen him to be Lydia’s life mate.
Perhaps it was fatigue or the stress of the day that pushed Robert beyond his usual calm, but as he returned her smile with one of his own, a surprising realization leaped to the forefront of his mind. Robert was disheartened—indeed, quite melancholy. With the return of her exemplary reputation, Lydia was once again beyond his reach. There would be no stepping into the role of a suitor, whether he wanted to or not. It was no longer a choice. A deep, abiding friendship was the best he could hope for, and he would treasure it. The thought that it could have been more would have to be tamped tightly into some recess of his mind—and forgotten.
He bowed, watched Lydia stifle a yawn with a delicate hand, and turned back toward Edward Dunbar-Ross, somewhat confused by the grin on the fellow’s lips.
“Something I should know about?” he asked the master of Villers Manor.
“No, not at all.” But the grin did not disappear until Robert closed the door of his chamber. The vision of the man’s toothy maw was soon replaced by the recollection of a brighter, prettier smile that Robert, despite his best intentions, took with him into the world of dreams.