Chapter 2
Making New Acquaintances
Still, however, she had the sensation of there being something more than immediately appeared …
Jane Austen, Persuasion
Once, Rosalind and Devon Winterbourne had danced furtively around the London ballrooms, treading on each other’s toes and laughing about it. Now, as Lord Casselmaine, he stood gracefully to meet her as she entered the sitting room.
“Lord Casselmaine.” Rosalind presented her hand to Devon so he could bow over it. “How very good of you to accept my invitation.”
Devon Winterbourne, Duke of Casselmaine, had always been handsome.
When Rosalind had first met him, he had been a tall youth with an easy laugh, intelligent blue eyes, and a sweep of black hair.
As he grew into his position, his title, and himself, he transformed into a strong man with a comfortable presence that could turn commanding when he needed it to.
He had managed to keep the kindness and the humor of that youth, however, and Rosalind admired him for it.
“Delighted that you should have us, Miss Thorne.” Devon straightened and turned to the woman beside him. “May I introduce you to my fiancée, Miss Clara Kinsdale?”
Rosalind turned to greet Miss Kinsdale, and her first thought was striking.
Clara Kinsdale was tall. Even Rosalind had to lift her chin slightly to look her in the eye.
She was willowy, with long arms and sloping shoulders.
Her eyes were an arresting emerald green and her hair a rich auburn.
Her whole air was one of capability and intelligence, but Rosalind also glimpsed a trace of humor underneath it all.
Her dress was a fresh muslin sprigged with green and lavender, and fashioned after the latest mode, and she wore it well.
Rosalind smiled, and—given all her earlier dithering and imagined fears—it was easier than she had expected.
“I am delighted to meet you, Miss Kinsdale.” Rosalind dipped a curtsy in greeting and received Miss Kinsdale’s in return. “Thank you so much for coming. Won’t you please sit down?” she said to them both. “Luncheon will be ready shortly.”
Claire, who worked as Rosalind’s housekeeper and also did the offices of a parlor maid, arrived with the tea tray.
Any potentially awkward initial silence was alleviated by the ceremony of pouring out, inquiring as to whether Miss Kinsdale took milk or lemon (milk).
Did she care for sugar (just one please)?
And please do try one of the ginger biscuits, which were Mrs. Singh’s specialty.
Devon took his tea as he ever did, without milk but with two sugars, and showed no hesitation in helping himself to a biscuit.
According to the ceremonies of parlor etiquette, now was the time for the light conversation to begin. Miss Kinsdale stepped up at once to face this particular challenge.
“What a lovely home you have, Miss Thorne.”
“Thank you,” replied Rosalind. “We have been very comfortable here. I understand you’re residing in Bath, Miss Kinsdale?” This detail had been included in Devon’s letter, although it was one of only a few.
“Yes. We removed there for my father’s health.” Miss Kinsdale spoke the words smoothly. However, Rosalind’s long experience with drawing room manners told her there was a great deal waiting underneath that simple phrase. “As I’m sure Casselmaine has told you, our family property is near to his.”
“I trust your journey to London was uneventful?” continued Rosalind, which was a remark that either party could answer.
“Very pleasant,” said Devon. “The roads were quite dry for the time of year.”
And so it went, back and forth. They took turns with their remarks on the roads, the fine summer weather, the commonplace difficulties of coaching inns. Miss Kinsdale kept up her end with practiced ease. She had clearly been raised to the ways of parlors and politesse, just as Rosalind had been.
For the most part, Devon seemed content to hold back and let Rosalind and Miss Kinsdale have the greater share of this initial conversation.
Rosalind remained aware of him, however.
She noted how his attention flickered about the room, taking in the furnishings, the books, the draperies.
He was looking to see if she was as easy and comfortable as she seemed.
He was wondering, she knew, if all was indeed right with her.
Rosalind found herself warmed by this sign of his continued care, but also slightly piqued. Before she had time to examine this emotion, Claire returned and announced that luncheon was served.
“Will Mr. Harkness be joining us?” asked Devon as they went through to the dining room.
“He sends his regrets,” said Rosalind. “He has been detained on business.”
In fact, Adam was tracking down a vengeful former employee of the printer who published the famous Boyle’s Court and Country Guide.
Mrs. Boyle was a widow who had taken over her husband’s business.
She had come to Rosalind in a state of anger and alarm.
Someone had been calling on prominent persons and telling them that if they wished to be listed in the guide’s future editions, they would need to pay for the privilege.
The man then collected their money and vanished.
“Fortunately, the fellow also seems to lack imagination,” Adam had told Rosalind yesterday. “He’s using the guide itself, and soliciting his victims one street at a time, in alphabetical order.”
Adam hoped to catch up with this orderly miscreant before suppertime.
Because they had no knowledge of Miss Kinsdale’s personal tastes, Mrs. Singh had prepared a highly traditional summer luncheon.
There was a green salad and lobster and mayonnaise, which was followed by lamb cutlets in white sauce and new potatoes dressed with lemon and parsley.
A strawberry and rhubarb tart stood on the sideboard for their dessert.
Thankfully, Miss Kinsdale was not one of those fashionable women who felt it necessary to display a dainty appetite. She let herself be helped to some of everything and even took seconds of the lobster and the salad. All in all, Rosalind found herself very satisfied with Devon’s choice.
As if your permission was needed, she scolded herself.
And yet she knew in some obscure way that it was. In the same way, some corner of herself wanted Devon to approve of Adam. It was not logical, but it was nonetheless real.
“Oh, Miss Thorne, I called on Mrs. Percival Short the other morning,” Miss Kinsdale remarked as Devon helped her to more potatoes. “She sends her regards.”
“I did not know you were acquainted with Mrs. Short,” said Rosalind. “Tell me, how is her sister? And the new baby?”
With that, the conversation broadened to common acquaintances and their families.
By now, the three of them had relaxed enough to begin including stories of past amusements and favorite, well-worn bits of gossip.
At the same time, Rosalind felt worry begin to tap at the back of her mind.
Something simmered beneath the surface of this conversation.
As the meal progressed, Devon’s glances toward Miss Kinsdale changed from admiring to anticipating, and even anxious.
Miss Kinsdale was responding to his meaningful looks with tiny, fleeting frowns.
Rosalind told herself to be patient, but it was not easy.
At last, the tart was finished and they all adjourned again to the parlor. Claire brought fresh tea and Rosalind once again handed round the cups. As she poured her own tea, Rosalind decided it was time to take matters in hand. She turned to Devon.
“Was there something particular you wanted to talk about, Casselmaine?”
Devon laughed. “Good lord, have we been that obvious?”
“I’m afraid so, yes.” Rosalind smiled. “Perhaps, Miss Kinsdale, you would do me the favor of letting me know what this is about?”
“Oh dear.” Miss Kinsdale blushed ever so slightly. “I’m sorry. Casselmaine did tell me I should be direct, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.”
“Manners can be very hard to set aside,” said Rosalind, thinking of all her recent past and her struggle to accept it. “But there is something, isn’t there?”
“There is.” Miss Kinsdale stopped, shook her head at some inner thought, and began again. “I must confess, Miss Thorne, I asked Casselmaine to introduce us. You see, I find I am very much in need of your help.”