“You are siding with Britain?”
Mr. Barnard nodded. “My grandmother was from England and I spent my summers here in my youth. I consider it another home.”
“Do your parents support your endeavors?”
“We are not at odds with one another, if that is what you mean,” Mr. Barnard said. “They understand that I must be true to my heart."
“Are your parents still residing in France?”
“They are.”
“Is that not dangerous for them since you are no doubt considered a traitor for siding with Britain?”
Mr. Barnard’s lips grew into a tight line. “It is not ideal for them, but they are making do.”
Octavia gave Roswell a chiding look. “Why are you interrogating Mr. Barnard?” she asked. “He sends word from Fredrick.”
Roswell was wary of this stranger, for his answers seemed too smooth, too rehearsed, to be real. But he had no proof. He would just play along… for now.
“My apologies,” he said with a slight bow. “That was not my intention.” He was lying. That was precisely his intention. He wanted Mr. Barnard to be deucedly uncomfortable, but he wasn’t able to do so with Octavia in the room.
The same blasted smile came to Mr. Barnard’s lips, but there was no warmth to it. “No harm done,” he graciously said. “Fredrick warned me that you are not one to be so easily won over.”
“Did he now?” Roswell asked. “I’m surprised that Fredrick has spoken of me, considering he has been gone for years now.”
“He spoke very highly of you,” Mr. Barnard said, turning to face Octavia, “of all of you.”
Roswell did not like how Mr. Barnard was looking at his sister so he drew back his attention by asking, “How is Fredrick?”
“He is alive, which is more than I can say for a lot of good men,” Mr. Barnard said.
“I am sure you did not come all this way to just speak to us,” Roswell remarked.
Mr. Barnard shook his head. “You are right about that. I was sent on an assignment from Wellington, but Fredrick requested that I make time to come and see you.”
“When was this?” Roswell asked. “I only ask because Fredrick isn’t exactly the sentimental type.”
“He is when he gets drunk,” Mr. Barnard joked.
Now he knew that Mr. Barnard was lying. Fredrick didn’t drink, not since he discovered alcohol gave him terrible headaches. Which raised the question- why was Mr. Barnard really here? And did Fredrick truly send him?
“Well, we appreciate you coming by but we do not wish to keep you,” Roswell said, gesturing towards the door.
Octavia gave him an exasperated look. “Dear heavens, Roswell. What has gotten into you?” she declared. “Mr. Barnard has only just gotten here and he hasn’t even finished his tea.”
Turning his attention back towards Octavia, Mr. Barnard said, “I hate to admit it, but Lord Roswell is right. I have much to do, but I would like to call upon you later.”
It was on the tip of Roswell’s tongue to tell him no, but he had a feeling that Octavia wouldn’t be appreciative of his interference. Hopefully, his sister could see right through Mr. Barnard’s act and turn him down.
But he was sorely disappointed.
Octavia smiled brightly. “I would greatly enjoy that.”
Mr. Barnard looked pleased by her admission. “Not as much as I.” He bowed. “Good day, my lady.”
“Good day, Mr. Barnard, and thank you for coming by,” Octavia said as she dropped into a curtsy.
The smile left his face as he turned to face Roswell. “Lord Roswell,” he acknowledged before he departed from the drawing room.
