“She has naïvely taken in a girl she knows nothing about.”
“You must give Mother some credit.”
Roswell walked over to the door. “I shall reserve my judgement until after I have met this Miss Bentley,” he said.
As he approached the drawing room, he heard laughter coming from within. It was a light, airy sound that he hadn’t heard in quite some time. It was the sound of genuine happiness, and he found it quite irksome.
Charles spoke up next to him. “It would appear that something is rather amusing.”
“Yes, it would,” Roswell replied flatly.
They stepped into the room, and he saw what had to be Miss Bentley standing next to their sister and mother. She was a pretty enough young woman, with an oval face, delicate features, and an upturned nose. But beauty was not enough when dealing with Society. Miss Bentley had no idea the uphill battle she was about to fight.
Miss Bentley’s gaze shifted towards Roswell, and they stared at each other. He found himself drawn in by the warmth that was reflecting in her green eyes.
He blinked and dropped his gaze. Enough of that foolishness, he thought. It would not do to have any type of concern for Miss Bentley’s welfare. She meant nothing to him, and he was determined for it to remain that way.
His mother gestured towards them. “Miss Bentley, allow me to introduce you to my sons, Lord Bideford and Lord Charles.”
Roswell tipped his head but didn’t feel the need to say anything.
Charles bowed. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Bentley.”
Miss Bentley curtsied. “The pleasure is all mine, my lord,” she responded graciously.
Emma spoke up. “Miss Bentley was just telling us about how she rode on a mail coach to come to London.”
“Is that so?” Charles asked.
Miss Bentley’s smile blossomed, her eyes sparkling. “It was an interesting experience,” she replied. “I was fortunate enough to have a seat in the interior, but there were nearly eight passengers who sat on the roof of the coach.”
“I thought travel on mail coaches was mostly done at night, since the roads are not as busy,” Charles commented.
“I was most fortunate that this particular route is driven during the day,” Miss Bentley said. “I do not think I would enjoy traveling at night.”
“Nor I,” Charles replied. “It is generally not safe to travel on the roads at night, what with the threat of highwaymen and all.”
Miss Bentley smiled. “Although it would be quite an adventure to meet a highwayman.”
“I agree,” Emma said.
Roswell huffed. “I doubt having your valuables stolen from you in such a traumatic fashion would be an adventure.”
“No, but it would make a grand story to share,” Miss Bentley replied. “It is better than listing my many accomplishments.”
“Do you have many accomplishments, my dear?” his mother asked.
Miss Bentley nodded. “My mother made sure of that,” she replied. “I also attended Mrs. Potter’s Ladies’ Seminary for many years.”
“That is a fine boarding school,” Emma acknowledged.
“I was pleased that it was close enough to Maidstone that I was able to frequently visit my father,” Miss Bentley said. “It was hard to be away from him when he was ill.”
“May I ask how your father died?” Emma inquired.
“He had wasting disease,” Miss Bentley shared. “He was sick for many years before he finally succumbed to death.”
His mother placed a hand on Miss Bentley’s sleeve. “Our condolences,” she offered. “Losing a father is never easy.”
