After the coach merged back into traffic, Caleb asked, “Do you intend to walk to your townhouse?”
“Yes, it is only a short distance away.”
Caleb nodded. “Very good. Don’t let me keep you.”
Roswell turned to leave but stopped. “Would it be permissible for Anette to visit my mother?” he asked. “Mother asked about her and I promised that your sister would come to visit.”
“I can escort her over tomorrow morning,” Caleb responded.
“Thank you,” Roswell said. “I know that would mean a great deal to my mother.”
Caleb glanced back at his townhouse. “I need to go back inside where I will no doubt hear a lecture on propriety from my mother. She thinks it is uncivilized to converse with anyone on the pavement.”
Roswell tipped his head before he started walking towards his townhouse. As he tried to focus on his case, an image of Anette came to his mind. He wished that he could just banish her from his thoughts, but she was an ever-present distraction, tormenting him.
It wasn’t long before he arrived at his townhouse and he walked up the three steps to the main door. He stepped inside and heard a male’s voice coming from the drawing room. And by the French accent, he knew precisely who it was.
He went to step inside the drawing room and saw Mr. Barnard was sitting next to Octavia on the settee. Mrs. Harper was sitting across from them as she worked on her needlework. At least his sister’s companion was awake this time.
Octavia greeted him when he walked in the room. “Roswell, you are home,” she said. “Look who came to call.” She shot him a look, indicating that he should behave.
“Wonderful,” Roswell muttered.
“Mr. Barnard was just telling me about the summers he spent in England,” Octavia said. “He was quite the jokester.”
With a chuckle, Mr. Barnard responded, “I do not think I was any different from most boys of my age.”
Roswell found that Mr. Barnard’s laugh grated on his nerves, but he needed to attempt to be civil, for his sister’s sake.
Octavia gestured towards a chair next to her. “Come join us, Roswell,” she encouraged.
It took considerable effort on his part to walk the short distance to the proffered chair. He sat down, his back rigid. He truly didn’t want to engage in conversation with the Frenchman.
“Would you care for a cup of tea?” Octavia asked him.
Roswell kept his gaze on Mr. Barnard as he replied, “No, thank you.”
“You speak,” Octavia joked. “I was worried that you had gone mute.”
Mr. Barnard held his gaze. “I find your sister to be quite a delight,” he said, as if challenging him to dispute that fact.
“I am well aware of that,” Roswell stated.
Octavia glanced between them with a line between her brow. “Can I get anyone a biscuit?” she asked as she reached for the plate. “Our cook makes the most delicious ones.”
“I will take a biscuit,” Mr. Barnard said. “We don’t get these too often on the Continent. It is a shame really.”
“I daresay that soldiers are much more concerned with staying alive than when they will secure their next biscuit,” Roswell remarked.
“It is the simplest of pleasures that can make the greatest difference on the battlefield,” Mr. Barnard said.
Octavia interjected, “And we are most grateful that you are risking your life for such a noble cause.”
Mr. Barnard nodded. “We must stop Napoleon, at any cost.”
Roswell glanced towards the window and saw Freddy pass by with his feathers on full display. It would be fun to watch Mr. Barnard being chased around the gardens by the ornery peacock. It would be no less than he deserved.
Octavia followed his gaze and said, “I see that Freddy is attempting to attract a female by strutting around.”
