Page 80 of Never a Duke
Mrs. Barnstable’s cheerful expression turned thoughtful. “Let’s continue this discussion in the family parlor, shall we?”
That was a maybe, if not a yes. Rosalind crossed the corridor and preceded Mrs. Barnstable into a room where privacy was guaranteed.
Mrs. B closed the door. “Francine Arbuckle was a good woman, my lady. She guarded your interests belowstairs and she did not gossip.”
“But?”
Mrs. Barnstable made a circuit of the room, smoothing a table runner, straightening a candle listing from its holder. Watching her, Rosalind realized that Mrs. B longed for a home of her own to tend, a home—however humble—such as she’d once had.
“But a life in service is lonely,” Mrs. Barnstable replied. “Servants take their consequence from the people they serve, and thus Higgins has greater standing than the footmen, but Lord Woodruff’s valet has greater standing than any save Mr. Cranston. Cranston’s authority is a matter of custom and also derived from the fact that he served the previous earl.”
Rosalind knew all of this. “You’re saying Arbuckle’s situation was difficult because I garner little respect in my own home.”
Mrs. B took particular care straightening a portrait of Lindy on the momentous occasion of his breeching. “Arbuckle had to be careful not to cross swords with the cook or housekeeper, and not to offend the maids. The male servants all regarded her as inferior, and I daresay any fellow offering her a sympathetic ear would have heard a complaint or two.”
Was anybody offering Mrs. Barnstable a sympathetic ear? “Francine had found such a fellow?”
Mrs. Barnstable took out a plain handkerchief and ran it along the mantel, then flapped the linen about, sending dust motes dancing in the morning sun.
“I cannot say for certain, my lady. I detected an air of happy secrecy in her eyes. She hummed when going about her duties, and she seemed less upset with the usual sniping in the servants’ hall. She was happier, and her joy had an element of…”
“Yes?”
“The same element I see in you when Mr. Wentworth is about.”
“If Ned Wentworth is ever about again, Papa will ruin him.”
Mrs. Barnstable tucked her handkerchief into her cuff. “Mr. Wentworth has apparently overcome much to get where he is, and I’m sure he holds his achievements dear. What will you do?”
In other words, Amelia Barnstable believed Papa’s threat was genuine. “I thought I would begin by discussing the situation with Mr. Wentworth. He should know Papa is his enemy, regardless of other considerations.”
“I understand that a banker’s reputation is his most cherished asset, my lady, but if Mr. Wentworth can be so easily cowed, is he truly the sort of man you want to spend the rest of your life with?”
“You think Lord Dinkle is the greater prize?”
Mrs. Barnstable’s smile was surprisingly winsome. “I like Lord Dinkle. He’s not too proud to ask a companion to dance—such as he can totter about—and he doesn’t take himself too seriously. Yes, he’s stout, but he does not have a wife to take his menus in hand, and gout and inactivity further complicate his health. He has known much sorrow, my lady, and yet, he doesn’t wear his grief on his sleeve. You could do worse.”
“You are the voice of common sense.” Not the voice of courage, though. Rosalind entertained the peculiar thought that common sense alone, however rational, was not adequate to address all challenges.
“If you do meet with Mr. Wentworth again,” Mrs. Barnstable said, “please be very careful, my lady. Somebody could well have lured young women to their doom in this very neighborhood, and I would not want you to come to harm too.”
“Mr. Wentworth is trying to find the missing women,” Rosalind retorted. “He would never wish harm upon an innocent.”
“But he hasn’t found them, has he? Your father might well see a connection between Mr. Wentworth and the missing women where none exists. For your own sake as well as Mr. Wentworth’s, please exercise the greatest of care in your dealings with him.”
Rosalind’s tea and toast threatened to rebel, because Mrs. Barnstable’s caution was appropriate. Ned was dark and dashing, he had an unfortunate past and knew people in low places, he was charming…
“A frank discussion with Mr. Wentworth has become urgent,” Rosalind said.
“A frank, discreet discussion,” Mrs. Barnstable replied, going to the door. “I was hoping to have a letter from my sister this week. I don’t suppose you’ve been through the morning post yet?”
And thus the subject was changed, and any hope of support from Mrs. B dashed. “I haven’t been through the post yet.”
“Let’s have a look, shall we?” She crossed to the foyer, took up the stack of correspondence sitting in the letter tray, and held up one slim epistle. “Here we are. Veronica is not the greatest wit, but she has a way of bringing to life all the personalities back in the village. If you do pay your aunt Ida a visit, perhaps I might look in on my sister while you’re traveling?”
“You heard Papa’s threats?”
She passed Rosalind the rest of the letters. “The whole household heard him. I’m sorry, my lady.”
