“Pardon?” Robert cringed at the high pitch of his voice. He cleared his throat and tried again, this time in a bass. “What do you mean?”
Lydia stopped a few paces from him and stared into his eyes. “Might I persuade you to stay until tomorrow? Dine with me … and the family? Or are you obligated to return right away?”
“I can stay. Nothing would give me greater pleasure,” Robert reassured her, keeping his tone light to disguise the deep truth of his words.
“Wonderful! I am delighted,” Lydia said, sounding as if she really was.
*
Lydia accompanied Robert down the corridor into the great hall and there stopped abruptly. People were cluttering up her entrance. No, not people. Ladies. Three ladies, to be precise—in lovely dresses, somewhat finer than necessary for the afternoon. They were all turned toward the wall, staring at a painting as if they were collectors appreciating the artistry of an undiscovered masterpiece. It was artifice, of course. The painting was that of the Melrose Abbey ruin in Scotland and had been in place … well, for as long as Lydia could remember. And the ladies were none other than her mother, aunt, and cousin, trying to appear occupied while waiting for Robert.
Smiling at the antics, Lydia noted the heaving chests. It was not to be wondered at; the transformation from ordinary to impressive had been accomplished in a very short half hour.
Mama was the first to turn and feign surprise. “Lydia, my dear child, you have brought us a guest.”
As expected, Robert bowed to each lady in turn as they dipped in acknowledgment.
“So good to see you again, Mr. Newton.” Elaine stepped closer, tipping her head to the side. Lydia couldn’t be certain, but she thought her cousin batted her eyelashes.
Robert seemed oblivious to the simpering, and Lydia felt a twinge of sympathy for Elaine. But no more than a twinge. The emotion might have been fully realized had Lydia thought that Elaine truly cared for Robert. However, Lydia could determine no starstruck glimmer in Elaine’s eyes, no listening with rapt interest to what he was saying, and no desire to know his character. Robert represented security, not love, to Elaine.
It was not what Lydia would wish for him. Robert Newton deserved love.
“I’m afraid I must take Mr. Newton away, Mama. Mr. Selleck is waiting for us in the study.”
“Mr. Selleck?” Lydia’s mother frowned and glanced in the general direction of that room as if she could see through the west wall.
“Yes. Mr. Newton has brought us a candidate to replace Mr. Drury—”
“Oh dear, your uncle will not like that idea,” Aunt Freya interrupted. She swallowed convulsively. “He will be most upset … when he awakes.”
The heavy silence that followed her pronouncement likely held a different meaning for each. Embarrassment, possibly, for Aunt Freya and Cousin Elaine, who liked to pretend that Uncle was not overindulgent with the Roseberry liquor cabinet. Perhaps discomfort for Mama, who never enjoyed her brother’s sullen moods. Likely disinterest for Robert, who knew Uncle only in this upset state. And frustration for Lydia, who wanted to resolve the land-agent problem as quickly as possible.
“Might you join us, then, Mama? If Uncle is incapacitated and cannot participate in the interview, might you not give us your opinion?”
The logic was clear. Lydia could not make the decision on her own: she was quite capable, but she did not have the authority. Robert could represent Mr. Lynch. And in a pinch … without examining the whole too closely, Mama could represent the second part of the trusteeship—her uncle. Yes, that would work.
“Me?” A slow smile spread across Mama’s face. “You would like my opinion?”
Lydia blinked at the tone and stared at her mother in surprise. Mama was pleased. So pleased, in fact, that she had forgotten that she had been giving her daughter the cold shoulder for the better part of a week. She stepped forward, touching Lydia’s arm as if to gain her attention.
“Yes, Lydia dear, let’s meet this Mr. Selleck.”
“Joan.” Aunt Freya’s voice held a warning of some sort.
“No, Freya. I will not be stopped. Lydia would like my opinion.” Lifting her chin, then straightening her shoulders, Mama took Lydia’s arm, pulling her toward the study. “There was a time when your father, too, thought to gain my estimation. And I must say I served him well. Yes, indeed. He said so, many a time. I remember in our younger days…”
Glancing over her shoulder, Lydia met Robert’s gaze and smiled. She was gladdened by her mother’s transformation, and he seemed to understand that. He winked and followed them into the study.
Chapter 15
In which a catalog, dry as week-old toast, is given high praise
“Lawks! I will not have it!” Kemble’s voice blasted across the dinner table as he slammed his hand down.
The company shrugged—well, near enough. No one reacted. There was no shocked exclamation, no reproof for the vulgar language, and no cajoling. This was clearly not the first time the man had sought to assert his will. Though one had to observe that the effort was less than successful. Perhaps if Mrs. Kemble was not afflicted with a sick headache and unable to join them, she might have infected the family with her faintheartedness.… But she was so afflicted and, therefore, unable to spread her contagion.
“It is done, Arthur. Mr. Drury left hours ago, and Mr. Selleck is getting himself settled in as we speak. I’m sure once you have met him, you will find him a great improvement. He has been a land agent for fifteen years—five in Heper and ten in Menthe.” Mrs. Whitfield lifted her glass to her lips and took a deep drink of ratafia. She glanced at Lydia, offering her a smile. “I found him quite knowledgeable.”
“Then why is he not still working, this wonder, this great savior who promises to transform Roseberry into a moneymaker?”
“He promised no such thing, Uncle. Perhaps you are confusing Mr. Selleck with Mr. Drury.” Lydia, sitting directly across from Robert, did not appear to be upset by her uncle’s mood, either. “As to his availability: We are to be thankful that the heir of his late employer arrived with his own steward, making Mr. Selleck redundant. And that Mr. Newton’s brother heard about the travesty.”
“Might have known. We have you to thank, do we?” Kemble turned the full force of his pique on Robert, scowling and pointing. He was rather like an overexcited basset hound—all bark, no bite … and droopy ears.
Robert bowed in acknowledgment as if the accusation had been an expression of gratitude. “In part, sir. My brother sent Mr. Selleck to me for consideration for the post—”
“A post that was not empty.”
“It was empty, sir, even if there was a person standing there.”
“Don’t be insulting.”