by Cindy Anstey
Blinking in surprise, Rennoll stared at Robert. Robert stared back, allowing a slow rise at the corner of his mouth in what could be mistaken for a smile … but one of satisfaction, not pleasure. A catalog of emotions flitted across Rennoll’s face: puzzlement, discomfort, concern, and then, finally, realization.
Rennoll threw the open box at Robert’s head, turned tail, and ran. As he dodged the flying pistols, Robert’s grab was off-kilter and a split second too late; his fingers closed on air. Rennoll raced across the meadow in a great lopping stride.
A carriage, visible now in the early light of day, sat waiting on the far side of the clearing. The baron’s escape was assured should Robert not bring him down. Surprised by the man’s speed, Robert chased after the miscreant with an ever-increasing gait until he was hard on the man’s heels. Cassidy, as evidenced by his labored breathing, was hard on Robert’s heels, shouting out a needless warning. “The carriage. Robert. Don’t. Let—”
Rennoll went down, tripped up by a mole mound. Jumping to prevent his own spill, Robert heard a grunt as the heel of his Hessian landed on the man’s butt. Stumbling, Robert fell forward, but he rolled just as he made contact with the ground and regained his feet in a trice. Turning back, he joined Cassidy, who had somehow managed to avoid the heap of tripping gentlemen. They watched Rennoll struggle to stand, ready to grab him if he succeeded.
Winded, Lord Rennoll sneered and labored into a sitting position, trying to gain his feet. But his energies were spent; he could only pant and bluster. “I am a baron of the realm, and I will not be interfered with.” He spat this out as if it were a threat of some sort. “I have had enough. I am leaving.”
His words were hollow. No sooner had he spoken than the sound of carriage wheels on gravel reached them. The jingle of equipage, the snap of a whip, and the shout of a driver put paid to Rennoll’s hopes. His ride had just departed.
“Worry not,” Robert said with great satisfaction between his gulps for air. “Another coach. Will be here presently. One that will take you. To court.” He glanced across the clearing, watching a party of three men emerge from the woods. One held his arms in front of him, walking awkwardly—as if his wrists were tied together.
Looking down at the expression of dismay on Lord Rennoll’s face, Robert smiled. “I would like to offer you an introduction,” he said while placing a restraining hand on Rennoll’s shoulder to prevent him from rising.
A figure in a dark blue coat with brass buttons stepped ahead of the others, quickly closing the distance.
“To Mr. Burt Warner, Principal Officer of Bow Street.”
* * *
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 diminutiv
e 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.”
Lydia laughed, or rather tried to. She knew him to be funning; his tone was light and frivolous, but she was finding it difficult to form words. “One … Sunday, actually.”
Staring at their clasped hands, Lydia was experiencing the most disquieting sensations: a tingling that began at her toes and rose all the way to every hair on her head—stopping only to intensify where their gloved hands met. Heat and shivers and excitement all mingled, coursing through her like a raging river. And her breath was puffy—as if she had run some distance. Stranger still was that all these contrary sensations were agreeable—very agreeable.
Had Lydia not known better, she might have taken these wonderful, exhilarating sensations as a sign that Mr. Robert Newton had imposed upon her. And as the thought that this was impossible surfaced from the floodwaters of her emotions, it brought with it another possibility—in complete disagreement with its companion. She was, indeed, deeply attracted to Robert. Deeply.
Now, she was in shock.
Was it true? And if it was, did that change everything or nothing? And what of the sensations themselves? Did they disappear over time or intensify? Was this what great poetry described as love? Or was her imagination running amok? Would she ever feel these heady emotions when Barley held her hands and looked confused—as Robert was doing now?
“Lydia? Lydia, are you well? Your color is very high.” He slid his hands up to her elbows to support her weight.
“Fine,” she squeaked, barely aware that she had stepped closer.
“Are you certain? There seems to be something terribly wrong.”
“No, no. Nothing wrong.” Lydia breathed in his scent and considered wrapping her arms around his neck. Perhaps he would kiss her. What a most improper, delicious thought. No, the term imprudent might be a better descriptor. After all, the marriage contract was not yet signed. Barley could hardly object to something that took place—
“Lydia?” Robert truly sounded concerned.
Lydia sighed and leaned back—placing herself at a disappointing, respectable distance. “Worry not, my friend. I was merely deep in thought.”
A small smile played at the side of his mouth, and the frown disappeared. “What about?”
“The marriage contract.”
“Oh.” Robert’s mouth curved back down. “I see.”
“I was wondering about the possibility of putting off the signing. If Mr. Selleck is a good match for Roseberry Hall, I would no longer need Barley’s support to replace Mr. Drury.”
Barley had not been keen on an early betrothal anyway; he thought it best to wait. It would seem as if she were catering to his needs … and give her more time to understand what she was experiencing, and its significance. She would deal with the overzealous ordering of a curricle later.
“True.” Robert’s smile was back. It was very nearly a grin.
“We shall have to see, of course, after the interview.” Lydia tried to instill a tone of authority.
“Indeed.” Stepping to the side, Robert offered her his elbow.
Lydia crooked her arm through his. Normally, she would place her other hand atop her own, but this time she allowed it to rest on Robert’s forearm. It was an experiment. She wanted to see if the warmth and agreeable sensations dissipated.
They didn’t. In fact, they seemed to multiply. Delicious.
It was a lovely walk to the manor.
* * *
Robert said very little during Lydia’s interview with Mr. Warner. They wanted the meeting to be as succinct as possible so as not to arouse any interest within the family. It was conducted in the morning room, while Mr. Selleck waited in the study. Shodster had been sent to find Uncle Arthur—slowly—allowing for a good half-hour conversation.
As expected, there was little for Lydia to add when describing the curious adventure; however, she did have comments and questions regarding Mr. Chilton.
“He seemed very surprised to see me in town and very flustered. To the point that he didn’t even wait for me to greet him. Do you not find that odd? Especially when the man has tried to be nothing other than a clinging burr for the better part of two months.”
It was no surprise that Lydia was handling the interview with great aplomb. Her comments and questions were concise and well considered; her intelligence was far from hidden. It was good to see, for Robert had been rather unnerved by Lydia’s initial reaction to his arrival, and he had wondered, briefly, if she had had an upset.
He had been quite prepared to thrash whoever had caused her dismay, but she had denied such an event and chatted and laughed with him all the way to the manor. For a few moments, he feared that Lydia had seen through him … realized that she affected him quite profoundly. But no, she regained her equilibrium in jig time and—other than the occasional squeeze—behaved as if nothing was amiss.
They did not hasten after the carriage but took their leisure and pleasure in each other’s company. Good friends could do that without causing any discomfort. The duel was discussed, which seemed to warrant those occasional squeezes. Lydia did little other than listen, harrumphing and scowling at the appropriate moments, but it set him at ease.
And now he stood by the low-burning fire, watching his lovely Lydia … ah, no … his charming friend, conduct the interview with Mr. Warner. Her movements were graceful even as she gestured with her words, and Robert tried not to notice the flattering cut of her gown.… Or that the rising color in her cheeks gave her a very becoming glow. When she glanced his way, Robert nodded and smiled back, though he was not paying any heed to the conversation. Lydia had it well in hand.
“Don’t you agree?”
“Indeed,” Robert answered without thought, and then sharply shook his head. “I beg your pardon. You were saying?”
“That Mr. Warner is a thorough investigator, and despite his doubts, I believe he will succeed in ferreting out our master criminal.” She stared up at him from the settee, looking quite at ease.
“Master criminal?”
“Yes, Les and Morley could hardly be accused of the cleverness needed for such a planned endeavor.”
“Yes … no…” With a frown, Robert scanned the room. “Indeed, a master … Where is Mr. Warner?”
Lydia laughed, a delightful carillon. “Robert, my dear friend, you were woolgathering. I thought as much; your expression was rather blank.”
“Was it?” Robert was very glad to know that he did not look the lovesick calf he felt.
“Yes, most definitely.”
“And Mr. Warner?”
“He is off to Spelding. Hugh is to take him, where he intends to hire a horse and proceed in his investigation. Yes, I have great confidence in his abilities.”
“Excellent. Then shall we see to Mr. Selleck?”
Lydia rose and approached Robert in a smooth swaying stride that left him dry mouthed.
“Can you stay?”
“Pardon?” Robert c
ringed 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.
