Rolling back on his heels in a studied casual manner, Mr. Warner continued to address Lord Aldershot without looking his way. “I thought you might try to make a getaway, my lord, once you saw that the jig was up. But I see that I underestimated your lady. Fortunately, my constable is quite capable of assessing the situation.”
In silence, they stared for some minutes as the scene at the bottom of the hill dissolved into a drama of shouting, kicking, and some very surprising language.
“Yes, well, I think we should probably offer assistance to poor Constable Johnson.” Mr. Warner turned and nodded a bow to Lydia. “I will return your funds forthwith,” he said, and then turned to Hugh and Jeremy. “Bring the groom along, my good fellows. He can languish in jail with his inept cousin Morley Goode and his cohort in thievery, Les Niven. Come, Lord Aldershot, let me be your escort.” Though his words were light and frivolous, his tone was anything but. Silently, Lord Aldershot started down the hill.
Lydia turned to Robert, though disappointed that in doing so, he was forced to release his hold on her person. It had been a great comfort. “Poor Barley, what a mess he has made of his life.”
“Indeed. But I believe he had help. His wife?”
“You noticed that, did you?”
“It was hard not to.” Robert gently touched the side of her chin and then turned to watch the men as they reached the bottom of the hill.
The anxiety, the fear, and the tension that Barley and Mavis had brought into her life faded away. And yet there was no sense of exhilaration or even simple satisfaction—just a great sadness for lives gone miserably astray.
*
Bath, as promised, was rife with distractions in the spring—chief among them was Miss Lydia Whitfield. Robert found that on every day leading up to her birthday ball an excuse … er, reason … could be found to spend time in her company. Occasionally, he could label the encounter a meeting, but in most cases it was an outing. And a pleasurable one at that—despite including various family members, there was always a moment when they could stare at each other without censure. They partook of such opportunities as often as possible.
Rising early, Robert found that he could complete the bulk of his duties at the firm by midafternoon. A leisurely stroll in Sydney Gardens, on fair days, and a gossipy taking in of the waters, on rainy days, followed. The evenings included a card assembly, concert, or night at the theater. Robert had never known the city to be so lively, exciting, and fascinating.
One meeting, which truly was a meeting, occurred just days after the dawn adventure. Lydia had decided that a formal arrangement should be set up for the security of her aunt and cousins upon her marriage or reaching the age of majority. Knowing that this monetary compensation would also aid her uncle gave Lydia little pleasure, but she knew that she could not destine her family to his frantic schemes. The Kembles’ manor had to be repaired and the estate brought back to snuff if they were ever going to be self-sufficient again.
The meeting went well. Mr. Kemble put questions to Mr. Lynch, but he was not caustic or belligerent in the asking of them. His bloodshot eyes demonstrated how much he continued to appreciate a nightly overdose of port, but there were no hitches to his speech, and he was clear-thinking. After all the papers were signed, he stood and bowed formally to his perplexed niece.
“I believe it customary for a show of appreciation under these circumstances, and as such I will express some gratitude. However, before I do so, I would like to state that had I not been required to vacate my own estate to assist in the running of Roseberry, there would have been no need of your generosity. Still, my excellent management and husbandry of your property has provided the means to rebuild my estate, and with that in mind, I thank you.”
It was a convoluted acknowledgment at best, but more than Robert had expected.
Lydia nodded with as much solemnity as her uncle and sighed deeply, very deeply.
The night before the birthday ball was purposefully unexceptional. Resting up for the celebration was the purpose of a subdued evening, though Robert found that he was still included in the company. He was more than pleased, as he had news to impart—but not to all.
After the meal, the family adjourned to the drawing room—a long room with two seating arrangements, one clustered by the fireplace and the other by the windows at the far end. Most of the family chose to collect near the fireplace, so Robert gestured invitingly toward the windows. Lydia immediately veered to where he indicated, though she looked mildly disappointed when he included Miss Cora in his solicitation.
Miss Elaine started across the floor to join them when Mrs. Whitfield touched her arm and suggested that she might be more comfortable on the settee beside her mother. Miss Elaine’s expression could be characterized as sour. She sighed loudly and dramatically and then slumped into her seat, crossing her arms and staring daggers at Lydia.
Those across the room paid scant attention.
“I have news,” Robert said, sweeping his tails behind him and perching on the chair closest to Lydia.
The young ladies, seated together on a floral-patterned chaise, stared up at him expectantly.
“Indeed?” Lydia prodded.
“Yes, I have heard that there will soon be a notice in Boddely’s Bath Journal. Couched in discreet language, of course, it will announce the amicable dissolution of the engagement between Miss Tatum Brownlow and Mr. Lorne Granger. It would seem that the lady has changed her mind. I don’t believe that there will be any mention of greener pastures.”
“Dis … dissolved? In tr … truth?” Miss Cora, not one to stutter under normal circumstances, was having a hard time conveying her thoughts to her mouth.
“How do you know?” Lydia came to her rescue.
“Cassidy dropped by my office this afternoon. I will probably regret setting him to this task; you should have seen him strut. So pleased with himself.”
“But is he safe? Did he become entangled—caught—in Tatum’s web?”
“I don’t believe so. Cassidy is quite sure that he is still unshackled, and did not balk at my suggestion to visit his cousin for the London Season. He will head east right after your birthday ball.”
“Oh, Mr. Newton, I don’t know how to thank you for your intervention. You are a saint.”
“Apprentice, actually … though I can see how you might confuse the two.”
The three shared a loud and boisterous laugh, garnering interested looks from across the room—and a scowl from Miss Elaine.
*