*
Lydia glanced into the shrubbery and then up and down the road before stepping off the Roseberry estate. Surprised by this overly cautious impulse, she gave her head a shake at the foolishness that other people had instilled in her. One: This was far from a bustling, traffic-infested lane, most often deserted and, therefore, needed no excessive caution when crossing. Two: There were no tree trunks large enough to hide behind, no suspicious shadows, no strange sounds, no villains peeking out from the bushes. Really! Thank the heavens no one else in the family was privy to the abduction secret—the angst of Cora and Shodster was enough, for they had infected her!
Fighting for the peace and calm that was the usual result of her daily constitutional, Lydia focused on more relaxing thoughts. There was one subject in particular that usually brought with it a smile, perhaps a chuckle or two, in recollected dialogues. That subject, of course, was Robert Newton.
It was odd, but Lydia seemed to be counting the days since she had last seen him: six or seven depending on where one started counting. Was their arrival after midnight considered the same day or the day after? Well, it hardly mattered. The most important fact was that Lydia missed her new friend, and she was devising a perfectly rational reason to contact him. None would see anything untoward about a young lady contacting her solicitor’s clerk.
Writing and then rewriting the words in her head, Lydia tried to compose the letter, something that might entice Robert Newton to Roseberry. Should she ask about the duel? Perhaps add a comment in regard to her suspicions about Mr. Chilton. Might she ask for information on the progress of the investigation and his presence for reassurance? No, that smacked of weakness, and she needed no reassurance—just his company.
They were friends, that was true enough.… And friends should not belabor their words. But this was a newfound relationship, and Lydia did not want to infringe nor did she want to contribute to any misinterpretation of her intent. She certainly did not want Robert to believe that there was anything other than friendship between them … yes, friendship.
Indeed, it was normal to miss one’s friends. Did she not miss Shelley? Of course! Although Lydia could not recall missing Shelley in a wistful manner, laden with undefined hopes. Yes, it was all very disconcerting.
Looking up, Lydia realized that she had stopped walking … and that she was still many paces from the Roseberry gate. Tarrying would not be wise; Cora had not objected—overly—to Lydia’s solitary constitutional, but Shodster had made his feelings known. She could envisage the entire household being roused should she be later than expected. And as she hurried toward the gate, Lydia heard the clopping of hooves and the rattle of wheels on the very road that she had declared deserted not moments earlier.
Turning with great interest, Lydia saw an open carriage approaching from the direction of Bath. There were three persons of the male persuasion in the small phaeton, two on the driver’s bench and one other in the back. The hood was folded, allowing them the full advantage of the warm spring sun, the fresh breeze, and, more important, Lydia’s scrutiny.
Standing to the side, she felt no alarm … or disinterest, for there was something quite familiar in the figure of the driver. Even before she had identified him, Lydia’s heart quickened, and she held her breath, waiting for confirmation. Fortunately, it was mere seconds before she could verify that, yes, indeed, the driver was none other than her very own Robert Newton. She was so very pleased to see him.
Swallowing, taking a deep breath, and smoothing down her skirts—which needed no such reproof—Lydia tried to understand why she had suddenly acquired a jittery energy. She had come to no conclusion when the carriage pulled up in front of her.
“Well met, Miss Whitfield,” Robert said, making no disguise of his pleasure.
Lydia returned his grin, appreciating the deep pools of his expressive eyes. She wondered if something had transpired, noting a slight hint of excitement. But now was not the time to ask, as he was in the process of introducing her to … “I beg your pardon, I was distracted—you were saying?”
Robert paused, lifted his brows, and then began again. “This is Mr. Burt Warner of Bow Street.”
Lydia pulled her eyes from Robert and glanced at the thin man beside him. She had little time to take his measure—and understand the reason for his smirk—when the introductions continued to the person taking up most of the backseat.
“Mr. David Selleck, recently of Menthe—just this side of Shaftesbury. He has been a land agent for the better part of fifteen years.”
Surprise, of the pleasant sort, had Lydia assessing Mr. Selleck more closely. The man wasn’t rotund but broad; his shoulders were substantial and his girth proportional. Well dressed, but by no means stylish, Mr. Selleck exuded an affable air, though not overly jolly. His manner, if one can assess character by something as minimal as a nod, was pleasant, interested, and approachable. Yes, Robert had brought her a possible replacement for Mr. Drury. She should not have been surprised.
“Are you on your own?” Robert frowned, swiveling in his seat to look around. “I wouldn’t have thought that advisable.”
Lydia laughed lightly. “My daily constitutional, Mr. Newton. I’m hardly in need of an escort.”
His expression was pained, as if he wished to argue the point. “Can we take you up to the house?” He glanced over his shoulder to the somewhat diminutive space left on the backseat.
As much as Lydia might find Mr. Selleck an agreeable sort and looked forward to getting to know him, she preferred not to increase their acquaintance by bouncing up the road on his lap. “That would defeat the purpose of a constitutional, don’t you think? I should be along soon enough. By the time Shodster has set you up in the study with a bit of refreshment to satiate you after your journey, I will be there.”
Robert did not look pacified; he shook his head and passed the reins to Mr. Warner. “The stables are to the back to the house,” he said as he jumped to the ground. “I’ll be there presently.”
Mr. Warner merely nodded and flicked the reins, leaving Robert and Lydia staring after the diminishing carriage. Neither said anything for some minutes, staring at the empty road—as if watching a parade. Lydia wasn’t sure what had brought on this stillness, discomfort or companionship. It proved to be the latter.
“Lydia, my dear friend, I am so glad to see you.” Robert turned, taking both her hands in his. “It has been a month of Sundays since we last met.”