“Seized? Are you all right, Miss Whitfield?” His gray tinge was now suffused with red. “Are you hurt?”
Reaching out, Lydia lightly placed her hand on Shodster’s arm. “Please, do not fret. It’s fine. I’m fine. Do not be concerned. I spent most of the night riding—trying to get back to Bath. And then we discovered that Villers Manor was nearby. I must say, I will be heartily glad to resume my routine tomorrow.” Lydia knew her conversation to be disjointed, but she was somewhat taken aback by the intensity of Shodster’s reaction. “Might you consider resting until dinnertime, to recoup some of your energies?”
“Not with guests in the house, miss.”
“No, of course not. Silly suggestion.” She frowned, trying to recall what it was that she required of her butler. “Oh, yes. Might I ask that all mail or messages go through me first, Shodster, for … let us say, a week or more?”
“Of course, Miss Whitfield.”
“Thank you.” Lydia turned and then pivoted back, realizing that their discussion was not quite complete. “Pardon?”
“Mr. Newton? Your solicitor’s clerk? He was the one who came to your aid?”
“Yes, Mr. Lynch’s apprentice-in-waiting.” Lydia heard the pride in her voice, though she was not entirely certain whence it was derived. “He helped me escape and accompanied me to Pepney.”
“Impressive. A fine young man.”
Lydia laughed. “Indeed.” He was most certainly both impressive and a fine young man.
Lydia’s mind wandered over the face and figure of her new friend, appreciating the way Mother Nature had formed him. Appreciation for his lips had to be added to his other exceptional attributes—a new discovery. She had found them quite fascinating as they had stared at each other in the half-light of the moon, to the point that she had even wondered what they might feel like pressed …
“Indeed,” she said again, trying to hide her distraction. “Mr. Lynch could not have found a better apprentice.”
Heading up the stairs to join the others in the drawing room, Lydia hesitated on the first step. Had Shodster made a parting remark? No, she must have been mistaken. It had sounded like “a better man than Aldershot will ever be.”
Lydia glanced over her shoulder to see Shodster heading toward the back of the house. There, she was mistaken. Her butler had said no such thing.
Unfortunately, that meant the critical comment had come from the less than helpful voice in her head.
Chapter 12
In which a carriage should not have been ordered and an apology has unseen consequences
Despite occupying three floors, Lewis’s was not a large gentleman’s club. Certainly not anything that would rival Brooks’s or White’s in London. Still, its address could not have been in a better part of Bath, close to the river and—more important—within a stone’s throw of two gambling dens should any gentleman prefer much higher stakes. The labyrinth of rooms was comfortable and suited to those of a young and foolish nature; Cassidy was well known there.
Robert had arrived later than expected—by several unfortunate hours. His meeting with Mr. Lynch had not gone as anticipated. There was plenty of dithering and wringing of hands, but not of the confused kind. That in and of itself was part of the problem. Mr. Lynch was clearheaded and rife with anxiety when Robert crossed the threshold of the law office. The planned excuses could not survive the scrutiny of a coherent Mr. Lynch.
“Only this morning, this morning,” Mr. Lynch said after a remarkably effusive greeting. “Only then did I recognize the name of Miss Whitfield’s friend. Oh, I have been beside myself, quite beside myself.” He shook his head and pointed to the chair in front of his desk for Robert to rest his weary bones. “I began to think that I had made a mistake, that Miss Shipley had the right of it. Said you were made off with … in a coach—seized, seized!” He lifted a quizzing glass to his eye, squinting at Robert. “Thought it might be true, after all. Especially when you did not arrive as usual and no message as to why you were not here on time.” He paused, giving Robert the opportunity to explain.
Robert stared at his employer, trying to decide how best to handle this situation. While there was no doubt that Mr. Lynch was declining in acuity, it was not all the time and in varied degrees, depending on the day. Anxiety seemed to be his worst enemy. Robert had noticed it before. Perhaps now was not the time to offer Mr. Lynch a full account of his curious adventure, not when the gentleman would be required to manage all their cases for the next few days.
The truth was rather fret-worthy.
“Yes, Miss Shipley was correct in part,” Robert said slowly, thinking his way through the maze of pitfalls. “The horses bolted and … the driver was flung from his perch. We were well out of Bath before they could be brought to a halt. Miss Whitfield suggested that we detour to Pepney … as it was closer—where she had friends. Mr. Dunbar-Ross drove me back this morning; Miss Whitfield stayed a little longer to visit.” Robert bobbed his head with finality and sighed in relief. He had found an acceptable story within the bones of the truth.
Robert’s relief was mirrored in Mr. Lynch. The old gentleman’s smile erased his furrowed brow and squinty eyes. He scratched, absentmindedly, across his bald pate and huffed a breath; it was almost a snort. “Knew it, knew it. Capital. Well done, Mr. Newton. Though I don’t envy you Miss Whitfield’s company. Poor little thing must have been scared witless.”
The words to disabuse Mr. Lynch of this ridiculous notion were on the tip of his tongue, but Robert stayed his comment and nodded yet again. He then launched into his need of a few days respite. The excuse of family obligations was flimsy, and Robert was certain that Mr. Lynch knew it to be a pretext. Still, pretending that all was on the up and up meant that the man was under no obligation to do anything.
After dashing off some letters and compiling various contracts for signatures, Robert set off for Lewis’s. But not before he had inscribed, As agreed, will be back in a few days, on a piece of paper and placed it in the center of his desk. It was a nod to Mr. Lynch’s ever-vacillating awareness, should he forget their arrangement. Robert had purposefully left off a date—there was a possibility that it would take longer.