As Miss Whitfield labored to find a polite description of the scene he had just witnessed, Robert replied as if it were already stated. “Yes, but if you had done so, I would not have had the pleasure of casting my eyes upon a waistcoat of which I am sure never to forget.”
In a superlative attempt to hide her levity, Miss Whitfield gestured Robert out of the alcove with a serious expression, only the twitching corners of her mouth offering up her true reaction to his words. “Yes, indeed. Such a superior example of … beadwork … I have yet to see.”
Back in the center of the hall, Miss Whitfield looked to the first floor and then toward a door off the main entrance. “Were you hoping to see the family in an informal setting, such as the drawing room…?” She paused, obvious in her attempt to have Robert explain more fully.
He wished that he could put her out of her misery, but again Mr. Lynch interfered. Robert had been instructed that impartiality was most important in dealing with this situation. He could not explain until all involved parties were gathered together.
“Actually, I would prefer a more secluded location, if you don’t mind. And just the presence of Mr. Kemble and Eric Drury.”
With a nod, Miss Whitfield turned and reached for the bellpull hanging next to the ornate mantel. However, before she could give the bell a tug, a voice floated down from the upper balcony.
“Is that you, Lydia?”
Robert could not see the questioning person, but the tonal range assured him that it was, in fact, a she.
“Yes, Mama.”
“Oh, I am so glad. I quite expected you back a full ten minutes ago. It doesn’t serve my nerves well when you do something irregular. You are usually as timely as clockworks.”
“There was no need to worry—” Miss Whitfield lifted her hand in Robert’s direction. It seemed to be an indication that he should step forward and provide the excuse needed to calm her mother’s poor nerves, but her hand stopped moving as soon as her mother interrupted.
Unsure of his role, Robert hesitated as well.
“Oh, I was not worried, no, I was anxious … anxious that you would miss Mr. Chilton. No, perhaps I mean excited. Yes, that’s it. Did you see him?”
“I did, Mama. I wish you wouldn’t encourage Chilton.”
“Oh, Lydia, how can you be so unromantic? He is smitten, can think of no one else but you.” This was stated in a slightly different voice quality, telling Robert that it was a quote rather than an original thought.
“As I have told you before, Mama, Chilton’s pockets are to let. His interest in me is financial, not romantic. Besides, you know that I am already betrothed.”
Robert frowned. Lynch had not mentioned an engagement.
“Don’t talk like that, Lydia. It is not official. You are not obligated—”
With a flick of her hand, Miss Whitfield indicated that she wished Robert’s presence to be known, and he stepped into the open part of the hallway.
“Could we talk about it at another time, Mama?” The request sounded suspiciously like an order. “I have business to discuss with Mr. Newton.”
“Mr. Who? Oh my, why did you not say that you were not alone, Lydia? Hello, Mr. Elton. I don’t believe we have been introduced.”
The situation was a little awkward as Miss Whitfield seemed disinclined to take Robert up the stairs for a proper introduction and Mrs. Whitfield seemed disinclined to come down. However, both ladies overlooked this and merely adjusted the level of their voices. Miss Whitfield enunciated Robert’s last name clearly while performing the honors, and Robert bowed neatly to the woman leaning over the rail.
There was no doubting the relationship; Mrs. Whitfield was very much like her daughter but without the bright smile, slim figure, thick hair, and intelligent eyes. On second thought, perhaps the family resemblance was encapsulated only in the shape of her chin and the length of her nose.
Once it had been established that Robert was not at Roseberry Hall to visit the family but as a representative of Mr. Lynch, Mrs. Whitfield lost interest and shrugged, returning—one had to assume since it was not visible from where he was standing—to the drawing room.
In quick succession, Miss Whitfield’s bell summoned the butler, the housekeeper, and the returning footman, Hugh. Shodster was sent in search of Uncle Arthur and Eric Drury with a request to meet in the study. Hugh, after being laden with their outdoor clothing, was sent to ensure that Robert’s horse and gig had arrived safely—the doll was not mentioned. And, despite Robert’s protest, Mrs. Buttle was asked to prepare a room for their guest.
“If I need to stay longer, Miss Whitfield, I will take a room at the inn in Spelding. That was my intention from the outset.” While Robert had prepared for the possibility that his quest would require an overnight stay, he did prefer to return to Bath at day’s end.
“Please, Mr. Newton, there is no need. Mr. Lynch has stayed at the house—since you are here as his representative, it only stands to reason that if our meeting goes longer than expected, you will not have to travel in the dark—not to Spelding or Bath. A precaution, nothing more. We have the room.”
Robert was given little opportunity to protest, although he retained his satchel as a token of resistance. Miss Whitfield led him down a smaller windowed hallway that ran along the front of the house. A few twists and turns later, they entered what was called the study: a book-lined room that looked suspiciously like a library except for the desk and the chairs grouped at both ends. The study was of such proportions that it possessed not one but two huge fireplaces. There was a sense of grandeur to it all, but it was the books that impressed Robert the most, for he was a great reader. With a smile, he noted that there was no whiff of mustiness. The room had the atmosphere of a well-used and well-loved haven, despite its size.
They did not have to wait long for the others to arrive; Robert had only just set down his satchel and made himself comfortable behind the desk, as Miss Whitfield had indicated, when the irritated and irritating Arthur Kemble stormed into the room. Robert jumped to his feet, offering a polite nod, but it was of no consequence as the man didn’t so much as glance in his direction.
“What is all this? I will not be summoned like a dog, Lydia.” Although clearly he could. “You should have come to me. I am your elder and your guardian, and I will be treated with respect.” Kemble shook his head with such vigor that Robert, standing quietly to the side, suddenly came into view. “Who are you?”
Robert was a little taken aback, as their encounter on the road could not have been more than half an hour earlier. The man was either woefully thick or purposefully antagonistic.