She is very pretty, he had noted, surprising himself with the thought.
Another maid had arrived to help, and this one had immediately sent him a sideways bold glance.
Robert had looked away.
‘I do hope your postilion is being looked after,’ Lady Kingswood had offered politely, after murmuring reassuring words to the two maids.
‘Your groom came out to meet us,’ he had confirmed. ‘I have no doubt they are even now discussing horseflesh and poultices and whatnot.’
She had smiled. ‘Grooms and coachmen share a common language. Do you ride?’
‘I do.’ Wistfully, he had pictured the green hills around Beechmount Hall. ‘I am fortunate to live close to some of England’s finest countryside.’
‘My husband is a fine horseman.’ Lady Kingswood had not disguised her pride. ‘Such a pity he is not here today.’
‘Indeed.’
There had been a short silence.
Thankfully the maids had now completed their task and departed, the second one once again trying to catch his eye.
Robert kept his gaze firmly and politely on Lady Kingswood.
The door closed behind them and Lady Kingswood’s demeanour instantly changed. Bringing her hands together, she narrowed her eyes. ‘I must tell you, Mr Kendal,’ she asserted, ‘Miss Bailey is very dear to me, and I should not wish her to become embroiled in anything unsavoury or anything that might bring her harm.’
‘Then she exists and you know her!’ Seeing her startled expression, he made haste to explain. ‘My uncle—that is to say, Mr Millthorpe—was very clear that he wished to speak to Miss Bailey and that she would come to no harm by it. I think,’ he added reflectively, ‘that he sent me in order to reassure Miss Bailey and those close to her on that very point.’
‘And do you know why he wishes to speak with her?’ There was a decided crease on Lady Kingswood’s brow.
‘I do not—not for certain, at least. I confess until this moment I was not convinced Miss Bailey even existed, or that I would find her here. My uncle is elderly and in poor health. While this was decidedly not a deathbed request—for he enjoys reasonably good health—he made it clear he wishes to meet Miss Bailey before he leaves this earth.’
This elicited a response—a flicker of something in the Countess’s eyes. Recognition? Memory? Then it was gone, and so quickly he might have imagined it.
He coughed politely. ‘Mr Millthorpe is aged, and somewhat eccentric, and likes to try to make me do his bidding.’ He grimaced. ‘That sounds wrong. I have great affection for him. But I confess that although we have lived in the same house for most of my life, he still manages to surprise me on occasions.’
Lady Kingswood nodded politely, clearly believing it would be indelicate for her to comment on this.
‘So,’ he offered, leaning forward. ‘Might I enquire a little about Miss Jane Bailey? Does she live nearby? Might you be able to give me her direction? I confess I am curious about her. Is she a woman in her middle years, perhaps?’
The Countess tilted her head to one side. ‘I shall consider the matter, Mr Kendal. But tell me: what led you to believe you might find news of her here, at Ledbury House?’
A decided rebuff. He had travelled all this way and might yet fail. He would have to tread carefully with Lady Kingswood. If she denied him, Robert would be obliged to return to Yorkshire empty-handed.
‘Ah! That I do know. My uncle indicated that he had commissioned a Bow Street Runner to investigate the whereabouts of Miss Bailey. While he would tell me nothing of his motives, he was most proud of his methods.’
‘A Bow Street Runner!’ She shook her head in bemusement. ‘Mr Kendal, I shall be frank with you. I have never met you before, and I am unsure whether I should trust you with the information you seek. You have made it clear your undertaking is not simply to speak with J—with Miss Bailey, or to pass on information. Instead you wish to take her hundreds of miles away to the wilds of Yorkshire, with only yourself to accompany her.’
The wilds of Yorkshire? It was hardly deepest Africa! But Robert noted she seemed genuinely concerned for Miss Bailey’s safety.
He nodded. ‘I see that. But I know not what further reassurance I can provide, save my word as a gentleman.’
Her lip curled. ‘Both Miss Bailey and I are aware that supposed “gentlemen” do not always behave honourably.’
Robert blinked, noting this for future reference. Politeness prevented him from asking the Countess for more details.
He cast around his mind, but no further strategy came to him save honesty. ‘Then we are at a standstill. I know not what I can say or do to convince you. Certainly on a practical level I can undertake to hire a maid to travel with her—perhaps one of your own maids?’
For some reason, an image of the pretty pink-cheeked maid suddenly filled his inner vision. Cease! he told himself sternly. Now is certainly not the time for dalliance.
For some reason this seemed to amuse her.
She thought for a moment, then nodded. ‘Mr Kendal, I shall make you an offer. Come back tonight for dinner, at half past six, and we can discuss this further. I hope you understand I need time for consideration?’
‘Indeed, and I am grateful that you have not sent me away with a flea in my ear.’ He rose. ‘I thank you for your time, and I shall indeed return.’
He bowed, smiled, and departed.
‘Oh, Lord!’ Jane cradled her head in her hands. ‘I am so sorry, Mama!’
Miss Marianne might understand, but Mama had such high standards for both of them Jane felt she had let them both down.
Mrs Bailey was still removing her bonnet and shawl. ‘What on earth happened, Jane? Sarah could not wait to tell me that one of the Worcester plates had broken and that it was not her fault!’
‘It is true.’ Jane’s tone was rueful.
She gave her mama a brief summary of the disaster in the drawing room.
‘The gentleman has not yet left, but when he does I shall be sure to go directly to my mistress and apologise.’
‘I should think so! But why were you there? And what on earth made you do it? You are not normally clumsy.’
‘Ah, that I must tell you... Mary cut her head, so I decided to take the tea. Then the gentleman said my name, and it was so unexpected that I dropped the tray.’
Jane, still lost in mortification, could not even describe the disaster properly.
‘He said your name? What on earth are you talking about? Honestly, Jane, sometimes you baffle me with your incoherence.’
‘Sorry, Mama. There is truly little more to tell. I was not particularly listening to their conversation—you have always encouraged me to develop the skill of not attending to business that does not concern me. Then suddenly he said, “Her name is Jane Bailey”.’ She nodded furiously. ‘Yes, I know! I am puzzled too. I have been racking my brains, but I cannot think of why he might be here, or why any gentleman might be seeking me.’
As she spoke, a bell on the wall rang—Jane’s bell—swiftly followed by the housekeeper’s bell. Miss Marianne wanted them both!
They glanced at each other, then wordlessly rose, making for the drawing room.
The