Mr. Timken frowned. “I’m not sure what your point is.”
“My point is that just because you think you know why men of the law have come to call, there’s always the chance you’re mistaken.”
“I’ll keep that in mind” was all Mr. Timken said as his lips twitched ever so slightly before he turned and quit the room.
As Camilla watched him disappear, the thought sprang to mind that the composed world she normally resided in was nowhere to be found today—a thought that was reinforced when she returned her attention to Bernadette and found that, while she’d been watching Mr. Timken’s retreat, her lady’s maid had sidled closer to Owen and was plucking a few threads from Owen’s tattered sleeve, which, unfortunately, left that sleeve completely parting from the seam and sliding to the floor.
Six
“Would you look at that,” Bernadette exclaimed, batting her lashes Owen’s way at a downright remarkable speed. “I seem to have unintentionally ruined your sleeve, but no need to fret because I’m a more than proficient seamstress. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just nip up to my room and fetch my sewing basket. I’m sure you’ll be relieved to learn that I have the skills that will see that fine suit jacket of yours returned to tip-top shape in a jiffy.”
Given that Owen was now looking quite like a poor deer caught in the lantern lights, it was obvious that an intervention was in order.
Swallowing the oddest desire to laugh, that urge undoubtedly a direct result of the fact her day was becoming more peculiar by the second, Camilla lifted her chin and marched across the room. She took a second to snatch up Owen’s tattered sleeve, which, given its abysmal condition, would never be able to look in tip-top shape again, before she inserted herself between Owen and Bernadette, having to resort to giving her lady’s maid a none-too-subtle nudge to get her to step aside.
Bernadette immediately sent Camilla what could only be described as an injured look.
“Was there anything else you needed, Bernadette?” Camilla asked, ignoring the look.
“I wouldn’t be opposed to an introduction to this delightful gentleman.”
Having never had a maid ask for an introduction to anyone before, Camilla frowned, but before she could summon up any type of response, although what she could possibly say was beyond her, Owen presented Bernadette with a bow.
“I’m Mr. Owen Chesterfield.”
Bernadette dimpled and dipped into a curtsy. “And I’m Miss Bernadette Millersport, Miss Pierpont’s lady’s maid, but know that I have every intention of becoming a famous actress, which is far more impressive than being a maid.”
“My grandmother once had ambitions to tread the boards, but she came to her senses and married my grandfather instead.”
Bernadette went from smiling to scowling in the span of a heartbeat. “There’s nothing wrong with becoming an actress.”
Owen blinked. “I don’t recall saying there was.”
“You implied that your grandmother would have taken leave of her senses if she’d chosen acting over marrying your grandfather.”
Knowing the conversation was only going to go downhill from there, Camilla cleared her throat, drawing Bernadette’s attention.
“I’m sure what Mr. Chesterfield intended to say was that he’s certain you’ll make a wonderful actress, but your future aspirations aside, weren’t you telling me earlier that there are only so many hours in a day and that you don’t think you have enough time to get everything ready for our departure to Newport?”
Bernadette frowned. “Is that your way of telling me you’d like me to get back to work?”
“You’re the one who said you’re having difficulty getting my clothing in order for the summer Season.”
“Anyone would have difficulty with that since ladies are apparently expected to change seven to ten times a day, which, over an eight-week span of time, translates to hundreds of pieces.”
“I can always ask Lottie to assist you.”
“And leave her concluding I’m not up for doing my job? Absolutely not.” Bernadette released a sniff. “I’m perfectly capable of getting everything ready, but before I get back to the grind of packing up your many, many outfits ...” She stuck her hand in her apron and pulled out an envelope. “I almost forgot to give this to you. When I went above and beyond my job requirements by opening the front door when the lawmen arrived, there was a telegram boy standing with them. He gave me this to give you.” Bernadette thrust the envelope at Camilla. “You’ll notice I didn’t open it.”
“I would hope not, since it’s addressed to me,” Camilla said before turning to Owen. “This is probably a response from my father regarding this morning’s events. I’m sure the contents will revolve around his insistence that I don’t leave this house until he’s made proper arrangements for my safety, but there’s no need for you to wait around while I read through it and then write out a response to send back to him.”
“Will those arrangements include having the Pinkertons brought on to investigate matters?” Owen asked.
Camilla shook her head. “We have connections with a private investigative company known as the Accounting Firm in the city. They’ll most assuredly be hired by Father to provide me with twenty-four-hour surveillance until the matter is resolved, something I willingly admit I’m not looking forward to.”
Owen’s lips suddenly began to curve. “You wouldn’t have to contend with round-the-clock protection if you agree to my proposal, because I doubt anyone would expect you to take off for West Virginia. It’s not exactly known as a state that members of the Four Hundred clamor to visit.”
“An interesting point,” Camilla conceded.
