Chapter 3
Family Matters
She would have liked to know how he felt as to a meeting. Perhaps indifferent, if indifference could exist under such circumstances.
Jane Austen, Persuasion
Rosalind felt her brows arch. She resisted slipping a glance toward Devon. “Of course, I’d be glad to help in any way I can. What has happened, Miss Kinsdale?”
Rosalind found herself hoping that it was a matter of introductions, or guest lists, or being unable to find some particular item needed for the engagement celebration.
A second glance, however, showed how Miss Kinsdale’s demeanor had changed.
The poised, polite woman had become uncertain, and a little angry.
Whatever troubled her, it was nothing so trivial as her guest list.
Devon nodded encouragingly to Miss Kinsdale. Rosalind had the distinct feeling that if she had not been there to see it, he would have taken his fiancée’s hand.
“It is regarding my father,” said Miss Kinsdale. She set down her teacup and knotted her fingers together. Rosalind recognized the gesture. Miss Kinsdale was fighting to maintain that disinterested demeanor that all gently reared young women were taught they must display when in company.
“I don’t know how much you know about my circumstances, Miss Thorne,” Miss Kinsdale said. “The Kinsdales are country people, not known for much except a love of horses. In the past, our family raised some notable thoroughbreds. But my father … he is not a careful manager of his own resources.”
“I understand,” said Rosalind. She did. This was an extremely common story.
Law and custom granted fathers, husbands, and brothers complete charge of a family’s finances.
However, not all men were educated or equipped to manage such responsibility.
The results could range from dispiriting to disastrous.
“The income from rents, stud fees, and the sale of our brood mares has not been enough to make up for the estate’s expenditures in recent years.” Miss Kinsdale paused and took another swallow of tea.
“I imagine your father gambles on his horses as well,” said Rosalind.
“His, and others. He believes himself to be an infallible judge of horseflesh, and people.”
Again, Rosalind nodded. Pride was another very common element in these stories.
When Miss Kinsdale spoke again, her voice was little more than a whisper. “I am being very blunt, I know. A daughter should be more discreet about her father’s faults.”
“That is what we’re always taught,” said Rosalind.
However bad circumstances became, mothers, daughters, and most especially wives were expected to maintain a decorous silence regarding their circumstances in order to preserve the family reputation.
“But there comes a time when plain speaking is all that is left to us.”
The tiniest smile flickered across Miss Kinsdale’s features. “Casselmaine said you would understand.”
But he clearly did not tell you why. Rosalind felt a small rush of relief. She was not sure where that reaction came from, because it seemed to indicate she had somehow doubted Devon would keep her secrets.
I and my conscience will need to have some conversation after this.
But that was for later.
“So, we have sold our stock, even our saddle horses.” Miss Kinsdale glanced at Devon.
Her hand moved slightly, as if she wanted to reach out to clasp his, but remembered at the last minute that they were in company.
“Finally, we rented the house to Admiral Robert Walsingham. Our family—that is myself, my father, and my two sisters—removed to Bath. The idea was that we could live there with greater economy.” She met Devon’s eyes briefly, and her blush returned.
Devon smiled gently. “What Miss Kinsdale isn’t saying is that she also wanted to avoid me.”
“He, however, was not interested in being avoided,” put in Miss Kinsdale.
“—And so I followed her to Bath,” Devon continued. “And made myself perfectly at home on her doorstep.”
“I’d tried to refuse him, you see,” said Miss Kinsdale. “He’d asked me to marry him and then everything collapsed, and I couldn’t—”
“—but I determined I was not going to repeat past mistakes,” said Devon quietly.
Rosalind found she had to drop her gaze to the sugar bowl at this. Thankfully, Miss Kinsdale did not seem to notice.
“So, I found myself being very much courted,” Miss Kinsdale said.
“And, well, I confess I became entirely wrapped up in trying to decide what I should do about it. As a result, I didn’t pay sufficient attention to what was happening with my family.
No, don’t worry,” she added quickly to Devon.
“I’m not blaming myself.” Obviously, this had been a subject of much discussion between them.
“It is simply the truth. I wasn’t paying attention.
It was Cynthia who first realized that something was amiss. ”
“Cynthia is Clara’s younger sister,” Devon supplied. “The oldest is Elizabeth.”
“And the latest trouble began with Elizabeth.” Miss Kinsdale frowned again.
“Or at least, she was the door by which trouble managed to enter. You see, shortly before we came to Bath, Elizabeth became acquainted with a young widow named Mrs. Sylvia Lynn. Mrs. Lynn is a lovely woman with engaging manners and claims an acquaintance with some of the best people in the district. All of this recommended her to my father as a suitable companion for Elizabeth, indeed, for all of us, once we did move to Bath.” Miss Kinsdale’s tone remained bland, but Rosalind could see the spark of anger in her eyes.
“It was through Mrs. Lynn’s frequent visits with my sister and her inclusion in our family parties that my father became acquainted with her. ”
Rosalind felt she now understood, at least in part, where this story was leading.
“After I told my family that I’d accepted Casselmaine’s proposal, Cynthia came to me and said she was afraid that Mrs. Lynn was visiting us as much to spend time with Father as with Elizabeth. Elizabeth was delighted. But Cynthia was worried.”
“Why?” asked Rosalind.
“Bath widows have a certain … reputation.”
“As fortune hunters?” suggested Rosalind.
“Yes,” said Miss Kinsdale. “And the connection had grown … much closer of late.”
Meaning her father was most likely conducting a romantic affair with Mrs. Lynn.
“Obviously, we have nothing of our own that would attract a fortune hunter,” Miss Kinsdale went on. “And anyone who bothered to ask would easily find that out. But my being engaged to Casselmaine changes matters.”
Rosalind nodded. Since Devon had assumed the title, he’d worked hard to restore the family’s fortune.
“What is it that made you suspect Mrs. Lynn’s intentions?” asked Rosalind. “Aside from the timing of this closer connection?”
Miss Kinsdale considered this. Rosalind waited. Devon felt the strain, she knew. He wanted to explain; he wanted to direct the situation; he wanted to support and protect Miss Kinsdale, but he also knew the best way to do these things was to let her speak for herself.
This was the Devon Rosalind had always known, and she was glad to see him here and now.
“To be honest, what raises the most concern is that the gossip is so inconsistent,” said Miss Kinsdale finally.
“When it became clear that my father was developing a regard for Mrs. Lynn, Cynthia and I began asking our Bath acquaintance about her. And the stories we heard back … they clashed. Everyone agrees that she was widowed, and that her previous husband had been a London financier who had left her with a modest fortune. As she had no plans to marry again—at least not immediately—she’d decided her money would go further in Bath. ”
“Elizabeth told us this much,” put in Devon. “And I’ve heard some of it from Mrs. Lynn myself.”
“But beyond that …” Miss Kinsdale made a helpless gesture.
“We have heard alternately that her family is Irish but her mother raised her in London. However, we’ve also heard that her family is from Manchester and made their money from the new cotton mills, but sold their interests and moved down to London. ”
“There’s also a story that her father was a diplomat who profited from his posting in Paris and then returned to set up his establishment in London,” put in Devon.
“Oh, yes,” said Miss Kinsdale wearily. “I’d forgotten that one.” She shook her head again. “But when it comes down to it, no one can agree on what they’ve heard, and no one can remember having met her or her family in London, or Paris, or Manchester, or anywhere else.”
Rosalind could well understand why these inconsistencies would worry Miss Kinsdale.
London’s haut ton was a small, gossiping world.
Its hostesses’ sharp eyes and busy tongues could quickly lay bare the story—and the secrets—of any new arrival.
Since Bath was smaller, the talk and news spread even faster.
“Gossip, of course, breeds inconsistency and rumor,” said Rosalind. “But I am surprised that no one can remember knowing her, or her family. Do you know the name of her late husband? Or the financial firm where he was employed?”
Devon and Miss Kinsdale looked at each other. Neither, it seemed, had an answer.
“Did you ask Louisa?” Louisa was Devon’s cousin. She had married an ambitious banker and the pair were now very much rising stars in the social circles of the financial world. “With her husband’s connections throughout the City, he may have heard of the man.”
“We did ask,” said Devon. “But he could not recall anyone who answered what little description we had.”
“I imagine, Miss Kinsdale, that you’ve spoken with your father?” Rosalind asked.
“I have, but of course he will not listen,” she replied.
“And Elizabeth remains entirely on Mrs. Lynn’s side.
” She stopped. “I love my family, Miss Thorne, but since my mother died, we seem to have lost our sense of direction.” She stopped again.
“Please, if I’m being ridiculous, tell me straightaway.
Casselmaine says your … occupation is helping women and their families with private matters, and that you may be relied upon absolutely. ”
“Casselmaine is very kind,” said Rosalind.
“And yes, I have been able to help other families with this sort of inquiry.” Usually, it came in the form of nervous parents fretting over a child’s unexpected suitor.
Once upon a time, a family might be able to use their own personal connections to ferret out the truth.
But travel across the country—and even from the Continent—was becoming faster and more frequent, which meant the social world was being stretched by the arrival of all sorts of new families.
These families came with plenty of money, but without connections to established London society.
That made reliable information regarding their sons, and their daughters, more difficult to come by.
For Rosalind, this meant more families who came asking if she could look into the backgrounds of such persons and determine that they were in fact who they claimed to be.
“I wish I didn’t have to ask this,” said Devon. “But there’s a certain urgency—”
Rosalind nodded her understanding. “When are you planning to be married?”
“In the fall,” said Miss Kinsdale. “We were hoping to celebrate our engagement in Bath and then be married from Cassell House.”
Which only contributed to the urgency. It was already June and any such ball would need to be held by late July or early August, when travel was still easy, and before families began returning to London in preparation for the social season.
Rosalind was silent for a moment, considering her list of current commitments. She was busy, but there was nothing that she could not set aside, at least for a little while.
“I can begin by making some inquiries among my acquaintance,” she told them. “Tell me, Miss Kinsdale, do you know Mrs. Lynn’s given name?”
“Westerford,” she answered. “Sylvia Westerford.”
“Thank you. Since we do not have a great deal of time, I would suggest that I also go to Bath. That way, I can speak with Mrs. Lynn directly, which might give us a better indication of how to proceed.”
“Oh, thank you, Miss Thorne!” cried Miss Kinsdale. “This is exactly what I was hoping for.”
But while Miss Kinsdale declared her relief, Devon was looking at Rosalind oddly. Rosalind met his gaze and was rewarded by a blush, and the unusual sight of Devon Winterbourne, Duke of Casselmaine, fumbling for words.
“Thank you for agreeing to come to us on such short notice. We’re returning to Bath almost immediately.”
“Then I will begin inquiries today,” said Rosalind. “And I will write to you about further arrangements first thing tomorrow morning, if you will leave me your direction?”
Miss Kinsdale gave Rosalind her card, and they began the ceremonies of saying a polite farewell. Through it all, Devon was still looking at her with that same odd expression.
They all rose, and Rosalind opened the door to conduct them into the foyer, but at that same moment, Mortimer opened the front door and Adam stepped in. He saw Miss Kinsdale and Devon at once, drew himself up, and removed his high-crowned hat.
“Mr. Harkness,” said Rosalind. “I was not expecting you so soon. May I introduce Miss Clara Kinsdale?”
“Your servant, Miss Kinsdale.” Adam bowed, his usual polite, businesslike gesture.
“How do you do, sir?” she replied.
“And you remember his grace, of course?” Rosalind went on.
“Mr. Harkness.” Devon bowed.
“Your grace.” Adam bowed.
The men met each other’s gazes. Neither one betrayed any sort of belligerence, but it was a measuring look on both sides. Rosalind found herself with the urge to laugh, but she did not know where it came from.
Claire arrived carrying Devon’s and Miss Kinsdale’s outer things. They dressed. Farewells were said, and the pair took their leave.
Rosalind opened her mouth to ask how Adam’s business had gone, but as Mortimer closed the door, Adam hesitated. He stared at the door, as if he suspected it of something.
“What is it?” asked Rosalind.
Adam did not answer. Instead, he turned on his heel and retreated to the parlor. Rosalind blinked in surprise at Mortimer, who simply shrugged. In his opinion there was no understanding the ways of a former Bow Street officer.
Rosalind hurried into the parlor. Adam stood by the windows, staring intently across the street. As she started forward, he held up his hand to stop her, and then gestured that she should come stand directly behind him.
Rosalind followed the line his gesture indicated, skirting the walls rather than crossing the center of the room.
“What is it?”
“We’re being watched.” Adam pointed across the street. Rosalind followed the direction of his gaze.
He was right.