“Mr. Vincent Cassidy is not at home,” Cranford intoned, as if greatly burdened by such news. The butler saw no need to accommodate Cassidy or his fellows.
Robert nodded, ignoring the customary fiction. “Excellent. I will wait in the drawing room.” He didn’t bother to secure an agreement but set his feet on the path to the stairs and the aforementioned room—where his friend was, indeed, at home.
“You do know that Cranford is getting more and more difficult, don’t you?” Robert shook his head as he crossed over to where Cassidy was seated by the fire.
“Told you to shove off?”
“No. Just that you were not here.”
Cassidy laughed. “The man must like you. Sees most of my friends as ne’er-do-wells and slams the door in their faces.”
“After telling them to shove off?”
“Exactly.” Pointing to the seat opposite, Cassidy yawned. “So why, pray tell, did I have to rise so early?”
“It’s almost eleven.”
“Yes, but in order to be ready, I had to be up by the ungodly hour of nine.”
“Unforgivable.”
“I think so.”
“Well, I have a favor to ask of you.”
“You got me up early to ask a favor. I know I owe you—but, really, I would have been in a much more receptive mood had you waited until … say seven this evening.”
“Perhaps, but this favor involves intrigue, betrayal, feminine wiles, and a healthy dose of acting the man-about-town.”
“I am a man-about-town; acting would not be required there.”
“Good to know.… And so, the favor.”
“You have my interest. Tell me more.”
Robert smiled and shifted forward on his seat.
Cassidy did the same.
“Let me give you a little background first.”
Cassidy smiled. “As you wish.”
*
Sitting in the ground-floor parlor of their rented town house, Lydia stared out the front window onto the bustling thoroughfare of Great Pulteney Street. The midafternoon hour meant that most of the drays and wagons, laden with goods bound for the Bath markets, had long since given way to the stylish carriages and coaches of the newly arrived gentry and the sedan chairs of those well versed in Bath’s narrow streets and steep hills.
The Whitfields were not the only family to vacate the rural environs in spring and make their way into the lovely spa town to enjoy the city’s entertainments. The general atmosphere was one of exuberance and conviviality as friends and acquaintances reestablished their ties after the deadly quiet of winter.
Smiling as she watched the social niceties being enacted on the other side of the glass, Lydia hoped that the pleasant ambience would work its magic on Cora. Three days prior, they had settled into their town house, a place of generous living spaces inside, though no garden to speak of. It was indistinguishable from the other tawny-colored buildings in the row, and yet there was comfort in that conformity. Fitting in without having to make any effort.
Planning to partake in the many upcoming events, Mama had already signed in with the Master of Ceremonies of both the Upper and Lower Rooms. Lydia was quite ready to venture out. In fact, she was greatly looking forward to the first planned excursion.
With a glance to the clock on the mantel, Lydia snorted a laugh. There was no one to hear such an unladylike sound, as Lydia was … well, early. Bonnet firmly affixed, coat buttoned, and gloves smoothed back from the tips of her fingers, she sat on the edge of her seat waiting. She could be waiting a good quarter hour, for the note had stated three o’clock and Robert could be relied on for his punctuality. He could be relied on for many, many things. Punctuality was merely one of them.
Turning her eyes back to the window, Lydia frowned, wondering if there was some sort of underlying purpose to his invitation. Robert had stated that he would enjoy escorting her and Cora around Harrison’s Walk—a popular promenade on the other side of the River Avon. It was the underscoring of Cora’s name that led Lydia to believe that Robert had an ulterior motive. It might be something as simple as following through on his advice to keep Cora busy … but she thought not.
“Sorry, I’m late.”
Lydia jumped at the sound of Cora’s voice and then greeted her friend with a smile.
“Mr. Newton will not be here for a few minutes. Sit, sit.” She waved toward a settee placed catercorner from the window while assessing Cora’s expression—grim—and her choice of ensemble—grimmer. Gray with an accent of black: neither did Cora’s complexion any favors. But it was not the outward expression of Cora’s grief that bothered Lydia the most; it was the lifeless look to Cora’s eyes and the passive line of her mouth. It hurt to see her friend in so much pain.
Lydia was about to blame the wonders of romance and eschew all such emotions … when she realized that she could no longer walk that path. What were her feelings toward Robert if not romantic? It was becoming more and more difficult to reconcile herself to the possibility of a life without that strange thing called love.
She turned back to the window.
Before Lydia could delve much further into the confusing workings of the human psyche, a figure appeared, strolling from the direction of the Pulteney Bridge. Lydia smiled and stared … and then frowned.
It would seem that Robert was not alone. Another gentleman walked at his side. While coloring and hairstyle were similar, the newcomer was taller and thinner, without the broad shoulders that Lydia so admired.
“Ah, there is Mr. Newton,” Cora said with a long-suffering sigh.
“Yes.” Lydia rose, even though Hugh had yet to open the front door. She was feeling rather twitchy—excited to see Robert, but afraid … very afraid … that he had overstepped. She sincerely hoped, prayed, begged the Fates that he had not brought this gentleman to meet Cora. It was too soon. Much too soon.
The murmur of voices in the grand entrance brought Lydia to a standstill. She took a deep breath, plastered a benign smile on her face, and prepared to be introduced.
It was quickly and smoothly done. Little fanfare and, fortunately, the stranger did not single Cora out for special attention. If he did bow a little lower than necessary and stare with deep consideration, it was in regard to Lydia, not Cora.
Lydia did her best not to show any undue interest in Mr. Cassidy, but it was difficult when she knew his circumstances. The way his gaze kept alternating between Robert and her made Lydia think that Cassidy might be aware of hers as well. The idea did not make her uncomfortable, quite the opposite. It was as if a sentinel had been added to their company.
*
“Harrison’s Walk has become the place to be seen in Bath,” Mr. Cassidy explained. “Newton wouldn’t know that, of course. He has had his head buried in his job for years.” He looked over his shoulder toward Lydia as they strolled across the shop-lined bridge. Mr. Cassidy had taken Cora’s arm and the lead.