Page 79 of Never a Duke
Or George.
Orherself.
She had tended to more than a little correspondence the previous day, though, and wanted her letter to Aunt Ida on its way. She waited until Papa would be reliably off to smoke and gossip away the morning at his club, then took herself down to the front foyer.
“Your ladyship was busy with her pen,” the butler remarked when Rosalind added her letters to the stack for Papa to frank. “Will you or Mrs. Barnstable need the carriage later today?”
Rosalind was very tempted to call on Ned at the bank. He’d not elude her there, but she’d have to take Mrs. B with her.
“I might, when Lord Woodruff returns from his club.”
The butler was a staid old soul, a fixture from Rosalind’s girlhood, and she had learned to read him of necessity.
“What is it, Cranston?”
“Lord Lindhurst has ordered the carriage for his afternoon social calls, and Mr. George has an appointment at the hatter’s this morning. The carriage might well be in demand, your ladyship.”
Of course, two reasonably healthy young men could not be bothered to walk five streets to their appointments.
And Cranston could not simply tell her that, once again, she’d be on foot if she needed to go out.
“Then I won’t need the carriage after all.” She spied a sizable parcel sitting beside the umbrella stand. A sealed note had been tucked beneath the string securing the parcel’s wrappings. “I thought that would have been delivered by now.” More annoyance, to think the package she’d ordered delivered to Ned yesterday had sat in plain view in the foyer all this time.
“I’ll have it sent around immediately, your ladyship. We were a bit at sixes and sevens while you were catching up on your correspondence. Mr. George and Lord Lindhurst had a difference of opinion, and Lord Woodruff intervened or tried to. I’ll take care of your package if I have to deliver it myself.”
“Your personal attention to the matter would be appreciated. It’s important to me.”
Cranston bowed. “At once, your ladyship, and I apologize for the oversight.” He collected the package and marched off toward the stairs.
Rosalind’s general ire with the day acquired an edge of despair. Ned could not very well answer a note he hadn’t received, and if he were prudent, he’d never marry into a family like Rosalind’s.
Papa was a pompous old boor who might well see Ned ruined. Lindhurst was a boor in training to the extent a simpleton could aspire to such status. George had no prospects and was content to scribble and drink himself into a nightly stupor.
The glorious sons of Albion, indeed.
“While I am…” Rosalind fell silent. She wasone part Damascus steel, one part ingenuity, and one part cool reason, all wrapped up in a big, courageous heart.
She was also vexed past all bearing, and torn between the certain knowledge that she must let Ned go and the equally firm conviction that she must not.
“Did the cat chew your slippers again?” Mrs. Barnstable came down the steps, looking obnoxiously cheerful in a lavender sprigged muslin ensemble.
“Something like that. I hope supper last night wasn’t too unbearable.”
“You should have a word with Cook,” Mrs. Barnstable replied. “The roast was nearly inedible again, the meat was so tough. Your menfolk were too busy glaring daggers at each other, I don’t think they noticed the food.”
“What set them off?”
Mrs. Barnstable glanced about, though no footman was on duty at the front door so early in the day. “Lindhurst made an unflattering remark about a young lady. George leapedto her defense, and off they went, like a pair of boys scrapping in the schoolyard. Were you truly indisposed, my lady?”
“I was suffering an excess of paternal guidance. Papa is unhappy with me because I prefer the attentions of Ned Wentworth to those of Lord Dinkle.”
“Old Dinky isn’t a bad sort, though I admit Mr. Wentworth is far easier on the eye. Does Mr. Wentworth have the ability to keep an earl’s daughter in proper style?”
“Most assuredly.” Ned Wentworth had many varieties of wealth. He was honorable, smart, kind, resourceful, discreet, and much too lovely a man to suffer the fate Papa had threatened. He was also probably quite well heeled, about which Rosalind frankly did not care.
More of her willful departure from proper deportment.
“This talk of suitors reminds me of a question I wanted to put to you,” Rosalind said. “Did Francine Arbuckle have a follower?”
