Carson met his gaze and explained, “Mr. Barnard came to call.”
“At this hour?” Roswell asked.
“He arrived an hour ago and hasn’t left yet,” Carson informed him. “Mrs. Harper has been chaperoning them.”
Roswell frowned. That was the least of his concerns. He wasn’t entirely sure he could trust Mr. Barnard, even after they spoke at the tavern. Why couldn’t he get an accurate read on the man. Perhaps he was biased since Mr. Barnard was French.
He was about to head into the drawing room when he saw Octavia and Mr. Barnard emerge from within.
Mr. Barnard tipped his head. “Lord Roswell,” he greeted politely.
“Mr. Barnard,” Roswell said, responding in kind.
Octavia had a smile on her face as Mr. Barnard led her to the main door. “You are home late, Brother.”
“I had things to do,” Roswell responded.
“You always do,” Octavia teased. “Father was asking about you today. He said something about how you needed to review the accounts.”
Roswell resisted the urge to groan. He was supposed to have reviewed the documents that the solicitor had left behind about their country estate. His father was no doubt frustrated that he had yet to do that since he had so many other things to worry about. He hated letting his father down, considering he was struggling with his wife’s health.
Octavia dropped her hand from Mr. Barnard’s sleeve. “Do you know that Mr. Barnard had a pet pig when he was younger?”
How was he supposed to know that? Furthermore, why would he care about what kind of pet Mr. Barnard had? “No, I did not know that,” he said, feigning interest.
“Once it grew too big to fit on the bed, it had to go in the pen with the other pigs,” Octavia shared, clearly amused.
Mr. Barnard chuckled. “My mother wished that I had never started sleeping with the piglet. She didn’t think it had any business being inside our grand home.”
“I must agree with your mother,” Roswell said.
“As would most people, but I was young and thought a pig made a wonderful pet,” Mr. Barnard shared. “The best part was that it ate all the food on my plate that I didn’t want to eat.”
Octavia giggled. “It even joined you for meals?”
“We were inseparable for a while,” Mr. Barnard admitted. “Betsy will still run to me when I see her, even to this day.”
“It is far better than being chased by a peacock that has an evil gleam in its eyes,” Octavia sighed.
“I didn’t realize that peacocks could be evil,” Mr. Barnard said.
Octavia gestured towards the window. “You just have to look out into the gardens to see my point. Freddy hates me.”
“Perhaps Freddy is entranced by your beauty,” Mr. Barnard remarked.
Roswell narrowed his eyes at the irritating Frenchman. For someone who claimed he had no interest in pursuing his sister, he sure was going about it all wrong.
Mr. Barnard reached for Octavia’s hand and kissed the air above it. “Until later, my lady.” He released her hand and the smile disappeared from his lips. “A word, Lord Roswell.”
“We can speak in the study,” Roswell said. “Follow me.”
Not bothering to wait for Mr. Barnard, Roswell headed down the corridor and entered the study. He placed his hand on the door and closed it once Mr. Barnard stepped inside.
Roswell felt no need for pleasantries and asked, “What is it that you want?”
Mr. Barnard didn’t look upset by his abrupt question. “How did your talk with Lord Oxley go?”
“It went well,” Roswell replied, seeing no reason to elaborate.
