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“It was most fortunate that my aunt and uncle invited me to visit and that they live so close to Finley Park.”
Sebastian could not help but wonder if scheming had more to do with it than fortune, but he played along. “Fortunate, indeed. Have you visited them in Surrey before?”
“Once or twice. When I was quite young.” He shifted his feet. “I was long overdue for a trip this way.”
“I see.”
In the awkward pause that hung over them, the distinctive clink of china announced the arrival of their tea. Rosalind took control of the situation immediately, directing Marcus on where to set the tray.
“Please, be seated,” she told their guests. “You must all have a cup of tea and try one of Cook’s marvelous biscuits.”
Sebastian waited until Mrs. Abernathy and Mrs. Fairfield took their places on the sofa before claiming the chair beside Rosalind. Mr. Sellers positioned himself directly across from her.
“Tell me, Your Grace,” Sellers said as Rosalind began pouring the tea, “have you heard from any of your friends since removing from London? Miss Spencer or Miss Fotheringham, perhaps?”
“I cannot say that I have,” Rosalind said, passing Mrs. Fairfield her cup and saucer.
“I ask because you likely have not heard that Miss Spencer slipped and twisted her ankle quite badly.”
“I am sorry to hear it.” Rosalind passed a cup to Mrs. Abernathy.
Sellers launched into a detailed account of Miss Spencer’s situation and the many mutual acquaintances who had visited her while she recovered. Within seconds, Mrs. Fairfield had engaged Mr. and Mrs. Abernathy in another conversation, one that involved people they knew. Sebastian leaned back in his chair and watched. He had to give Sellers his dues. In a room full of people, the gentleman had successfully singled out Rosalind as the only one able to participate in the discussion. Of course, he likely had not counted upon Sebastian noticing and outmaneuvering him.
Sebastian waited until Rosalind had her own cup of tea and had repeated her regret over Miss Spencer’s accident for the third time before he engaged Mr. Fairfield. “Tell me, Mr. Fairfield, did Mr. Sellers drive his new phaeton to Surrey? When I caught sight of it in London, it appeared to be a very fine vehicle. Outclassed only by the pair of bays pulling it.”
“Indeed, he did not.” Mr. Fairfield turned to Sellers. “Why did you not tell me you have acquired a set of matching bays, Nigel? You know full well how enthusiastic I am about well-bred horseflesh.”
“The bays are no hunters, Uncle,” Sellers said. “Besides, I no longer own them.”
“That is completely beside the point. A fine horse is a fine horse.” He swung around so that he could give Sellers his full attention. “Tell me about them. Furthermore, tell me why they are no longer yours.”
His task accomplished, Sebastian leaned toward Rosalind and lowered his voice. “I would have come sooner had I known.”
She set her teacup on her saucer and met his eyes. “It is enough that you are here now,” she replied softly.
Chapter 25
“Oh my!” Mrs. Abernathy turned in a slow circle, viewing the Finley Park ballroom from all directions. Her hands were clasped at her breast, and her awed voice echoed through the vast room.
Rosalind understood completely. Although she had returned to admire the ballroom a couple of times since her initial visit with Sebastian, her wonder over the room’s art and architecture had yet to dim.
“Is it not the most magnificent room, Mrs. Abernathy?” Mrs. Fairfield was standing a few feet from Mrs. Abernathy, her head back, staring at the mural on the ceiling.
“I cannot imagine anything finer,” Mrs. Abernathy enthused. “Do you not agree, Mr. Abernathy?”
The minister remained near the doors, standing beside Mr. Fairfield and Sebastian, but he responded to his wife’s eager question with a staid nod. “It does not hold the majesty of the great cathedrals, of course, but it is very fine.”
Rosalind bit her lip to prevent her smile from growing. The minister’s somber blend of politeness and piety seemed all the more stilted when compared to his wife’s rapturous delight. Rosalind glanced at Sebastian. His wink was so subtle she wondered if she’d imagined it. But her heart registered the intimate gesture and quickened its beat regardless.
“Rather appropriate, I would say.” Mr. Sellers’s voice jarred her back to reality. The gentleman was standing too close again.
“Appropriate?” She shifted to her left to put more space between them.
“Absolutely. London’s belle of the ball marries a gentleman with a ballroom such as this.”
If he had intended to issue a compliment, he’d missed the mark. The poorly veiled jab was only marginally less insulting than the one he’d issued in London, accusing her of marrying for a title.
“There is virtually no end to the stunning rooms at Finley Park, Mr. Sellers.” She met his look and raised an eyebrow. “Why limit my good fortune to the ballroom?”
