Tabitha's Folly

by Jen Geigle Johnson

  He tipped his head, searched her face, and then turned back to the group below. “You might miss it. Pay attention.”

  She stepped closer and placed her forehead up against the opening. Below, all the guests crept forward, gathering. She whispered, “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “I wear a costume, it is true. My situation may be different from many who wear livery, but I am a servant. You can be assured of that.” A tinge of bitterness laced his comment, and Tabitha wondered at it.

  “Do you not like working at Somerstone? I would think it lovely.”

  “I would work for none other. The countess is unmatched as an employer. And collects the most interesting guests.” He turned to her again, smiling. Then his eyes went cold. “There are some who, knowing my parentage, would question my desire to lower myself in such a way.” He ground his teeth, and Tabitha guessed he himself would choose another path were he given such a choice. “And others who feel I don’t deserve even this occupation.” An eerie shiver settled around her, pushing out the earlier warmth.

  She wondered at his history, but did not question further.

  When they turned back to watch the group, all the candles in the hallway went out, as if they were snuffed, one by one.

  And then her breath caught. “Is that?” A wisp of white air floated in the doorway of the nursery.

  The footman walked her along the passageway, a different direction than they had come, taking far more turns than she would ever remember. Then he stopped so suddenly she bumped up against him. He steadied her, and then he blew out his candle.

  She froze, the darkness complete. Her breath caught and her heart started pounding. “What are you doing?”

  His voice close to her ear made her jump. “You are outside your bedchambers. I’m delivering you safely to them.” His breath tickled her neck, and she closed her eyes.

  He waited. And the silence filled with possibility. Then he said, “Thank you, Miss Easton, for being my friend. It has been many years since I have had such a simple enjoyment.”

  She swallowed. “You are welcome. Perhaps you have noticed I could use a friend also, now and again.”

  “I would be pleased to oblige. We might find a way for more moments such as these.” He shifted to his right, a soft thump sounding near them, and then candlelight filtered into their passage from the newly revealed doorway. He stuck his head out, searching the area. “No one will see you. Go now.”

  “Thank you.” She slipped past him, stepped across the hall, and opened the door to her bedchambers without looking back.

  Closing the door behind her, she breathed deeply three times. The exhilaration of her bravery still raced through her heart. So many almost moments in that narrow space, moments she would have regretted. And she was grateful now for her forbearance, for her fear. She shivered, the feeling not entirely unpleasant.

  Perhaps she would find a bit of unchaperoned freedom at this house party. The idea thrilled her as much as it filled her with fear.

  Wearing her favorite Sunday dress, and full from a delicious breakfast, she studied the beautiful stained glass in the local church. The more she thought about her ghost hunt with the footman, the more uncomfortable she felt. In the light of day, with her brothers all around her, in church no less, it seemed more reckless than brave. She tried to shake the uneasiness and enjoy a beautiful service at the small church in town.

  Tabitha breathed in the comforting smells of family. Tauney sat at her left, and his soap, sweet and tangy, tickled her nose more strongly than Henry’s earthy musk. Pressed between the two, their gentle presence against her shoulders brought comfort. They squeezed closer than usual so all the Eastons could fit on one bench. And the grounding feelings of home filled her. She often sat with Henry at church. Their families blended together on their pews at the local vicarage.

  For the first time since they had left for this party, she felt whole again. Complete. Her mother in Bath, her father looking down on them all, her brothers surrounding her, and Henry at her side.

  Satisfaction filled her. The vicar said, “And let us remember our loved ones in mercy.” She breathed out all the worry that pestered her. “And let peace fill our minds in remembrance of the great giver of peace.”

  Henry rested his hand atop hers.

  Her eyes flitted to his. His new intensity had returned, and the blue depths of his eyes sparkled with kindness, caring, love. Perhaps like the brother she had always known, but perhaps not, perhaps it was more.

  His hand curled around hers, collecting her fingers in his warm palm. Their hands hidden between them.

  Her breath caught. And her new peace was replaced by a craze of racing emotions. Had Henry ever held her hand at church? She racked her brain. Yes, he had. Also while running, climbing trees, and helping her over rocks in their hikes to the top of the hill. He had held her hand in all manner of ways, but this moment felt different. Dare she believe it? After all the moments of rising and crashing hope, dare she dream that he at last desired more than friendship?

  She returned his gaze, trying to communicate her hopes. Her face broke out in a huge and silly smile. Try as she would to appear more natural, she couldn’t contain it.

  Tauney nudged her. “Pay attention, you two. The Vicar is looking our way.”

  Henry winked and returned his attention to the front, but he squeezed her fingers in his own.

  A tiny giggle escaped her mouth.

  “Stop it already.” Tauney whispered. “Whatever the joke, think about it after. And then tell us all so that we can join in your merriment.”

  She snorted. And Henry echoed her suppressed laugh. She covered her mouth with her other hand. She would never leave Henry’s cradling fingers if she could help it.

  Henry’s body shook beside her, and it only made things worse. He gasped, overly loud, then bit his thumb. Refusing to look at her, he sat back and donned a serious and sanctimonious expression. But he couldn’t manage it. Glancing at her, his smile only grew.

  Tabitha dug fingers into her palm and closed her eyes. But inside she thrilled. Her other hand, safely ensconced in Henry’s larger palm, tingled from the attention.

  At last in control, they faced the vicar again.

  But she had not a moment of calm. His thumb began to brush across her knuckles, pressing in between. Then he toyed with her fingers almost absentmindedly.

  All ability to focus on the sermon left, and she tried in vain to control her breathing.

  And hoped that Henry’s attention would continue.

  7

  Whist and Wagers

  Tabitha and Henry lingered after the church services, her hand ensconced in his. Light from the stained glass windows cast an array of colors across the faces of her brothers. They stood, and Henry squeezed her fingers. He seemed to have a question in his eyes, indicating her hand. She gave a small nod, and his grin twisted her insides in happy swirls. But a part of her wondered how her brothers would react, and she didn’t know how to explain their intertwining fingers. She wasn’t ready to express her deep-rooted love for Henry any more than she could express how Henry felt. Did she really want her brothers to see their hand holding, and bring everything out in the open?

  As they moved into the aisle, Edward stopped in front of them. “Will we have a hunt at the house party, do you think?” His voice sounded unnaturally gruff, and his eyes moved from their clasped hands up to Henry's face.

  She stiffened and then regretted her reaction when Henry glanced at her and dropped her hand.

  Disappointed, and worried she had given the wrong impression to Henry, she brought her now cold fingers together at her front. “I’d just as soon go fishing.” She said, with eyes only for Henry. But he and Edward were locked in some kind of silent conversation.

  Oscar glanced between the two and said, “You won’t be fishing here, Tabby. I think the women will have other activities.”

  She didn’t answer.

  Something at the ba
ck of the chapel caught Henry’s eye and all of his attention. He excused himself with only a quick wink in her direction.

  The grand drawing room was inviting, the fire crackling behind her. Tables for cards were set up, and many gathered to make the most of that entertainment. Tabitha sorted the cards in her hand and frowned. The warmth that had tingled through her fingers at church had doused the minute the meeting ended.

  A sliver of worry lodged itself in her mind. Two ladies had arrived with Lord Felling at the back of the church yesterday. The small annoyance needled and prodded her even now as she sat playing Whist the next day.

  Miss Greystock had paired Tabitha with Sir James all day. But in Whist, Miss Greystock’s plans had backfired. Henry had joined them, and Miss Greystock herself was needed to even out their numbers to a foursome.

  Tabitha was determined to win. To squelch the confusion Henry had caused and get back at him for destroying her peace. To lessen the agony of loving someone for years who did not return it—or who might but was never blessedly clear about it.

  It was just Whist. But to her, it was so much more.

  Sir James was the perfect companion and seemed to pick up on her sudden competitiveness. His eyebrows wiggled twice, and she knew victory would be theirs.

  A group gathered around them. Sir James sat opposite Tabitha, and she silently urged him to read her mind.

  Henry’s turn was next. He sat to her left and raised his eyebrow in challenge. “This, Miss Greystock. This one is for you.” He played the queen of hearts.

  Sir James stiffened.

  Miss Greystock’s eyes opened wide and then lit, a secretive smile curling one side of her mouth. She nodded.

  And Tabitha wanted to win even more. Her fierce glare at Sir James likely startled him.

  But he calmly placed his card with eyes only for Miss Greystock. The king of hearts.

  Yes! Tabitha gathered the cards and tried to keep her expression pleasant, not smug. “We have won. Well done, Sir James. Thank you for saving that final card. It’s as if you read my mind.”

  Miss Greystock sat up straighter in her seat, a slight wrinkle on her brow, and then cleared her expression.

  “Not your mind, Miss Easton, but your expression was quite helpful. Miss Greystock, do you remember playing that evening at the Raleigh’s?”

  Miss Greystock colored slightly then cleared her throat. “Yes, I do. Your Whist playing abilities were highly sought after if I recall.”

  Henry leaned forward. “Good win, you two. Now we have a tie.” He winked at Tabitha. “Well played, Miss Easton. But I don’t believe you can replicate that again.”

  Sir James returned his cards to Henry. “If we are determined, we shall conquer. I have discovered such a motto to succeed in other areas as well” His eyes flit to Miss Greystock enough times for Tabitha to recognize his most desired conquest. What a delightful pair they would make.

  Henry dealt out the cards, and Oscar came to stand behind Tabitha.

  She waved him away. “I don’t need you hovering about, making me nervous.”

  “I thought I could advise…”

  Henry held up his finger. “Oh no, Oscar. This is between Miss Easton and I.” The others at the table turned to stare. “And Miss Greystock and Sir James, of course.”

  Tabitha laughed. “Lord Courteney, I always beat you at cards.”

  “Ho Ho! I detect a challenge.” He placed a hand on Tabitha’s, resting on the table.

  Shivers raced up her arm.

  His face earnest, he leaned closer. “Are you determined to best us?”

  She swallowed, the weight of his hand on hers more distracting than she ever thought possible.

  He winked at Miss Greystock. “Can they manage it, do you think?”

  Miss Greystock spared a glance at Sir James then looked away. “I have found with some contests, it is more the will of the opponent, than your own, that determines a win.” She raised one eyebrow wickedly. “And we are not ones to lie down in surrender.”

  Henry turned back to Tabitha, and the brilliance in his eyes stole her breath. “There, you see. Miss Greystock and I will have to disagree with you.” As he passed out the remaining cards, his eyes sparked with challenge.

  Tabitha’s heart soared. His grin almost making her give in to whatever he wished. But she cleared her throat. “I believe Sir James and I are the two who would have to disagree. We have turned out to be quite the pair.” She looked pointedly at Miss Greystock. “So often together today.”

  Sir James coughed, and Miss Greystock tried to hide her smile.

  Henry lifted one corner of his mouth. His expression turned devilish. “Shall we place a wager then?”

  A gasp from behind Sir James surprised Tabitha. Miss Fairchild held one hand over her mouth and whispered something to Miss Standish.

  But shocking or no, Tabitha inwardly thrilled at his challenge. She felt as if they were at home, playing cards with her brothers. She teased. “Challenge accepted. What are the stakes?”

  Oscar chuckled, but uneasy murmurs moved through the others standing around them.

  Henry tapped his cards, studying. “If you win, we have a dance after cards. “ He turned to look at the countess. “With your permission, naturally, Lady du Breven.”

  Their hostess had come to sit in a comfortable chair by the fire. “I feel a dance would be just the thing. It’s time you young people move about the room and entertain the rest of us, as you are bound to do.”

  “Outstanding! Then here it is. If you win, Miss Easton, you and Sir James open the dance as partners.”

  Her heart stuttered. Did Henry not wish to dance with her? She worked to keep her mouth from frowning and her voice steady. “And if we lose?”

  “If you lose, then you dance with the winners.” He paused and looked into her eyes with an intensity she wanted to lose herself in. “A waltz.”

  She struggled to hide her delight. The thought of being held in Henry’s arms thrilled her.

  He must win. She searched her cards. But they were excellent. For the first time ever, she wished to lose at Whist.

  Sir James winked.

  Oh no! What could he mean by the wink? She wished she understood him. Wished she could communicate how very important it would be for them to lose.

  They played for several hands, each pair winning an equal amount. An unexpected tension had come over them all. Henry frowned and considered his hand longer than usual. Miss Greystock appeared uncommonly nervous, a line of perspiration across her forehead.

  And Sir James. Conflicted was the best description she could imagine for him.

  They had two more tricks left, but one that mattered.

  She cleared her throat and searched Sir James’ face.

  But he gave her a slight nod that all was in order. She certainly hoped not. She led with only an average card, which meant Sir James would be able to win or throw the trick, depending on what he had in his hand. Then Henry played a trump, a queen no less. Sir James was next, and Tabitha knew the King and the Ace, as well as the Jack, were still in someone’s hand. It all hinged on who had which. Sir James or Miss Greystock.

  Sir James and Miss Greystock shared a look, and energy coursed between them. Without breaking their gaze, Sir James reached into his hand and tossed his card, one of two, onto the table.

  The Jack stared back, winking, and Tabitha grinned. All eyes waited for Miss Greystock’s card.

  She swallowed twice, visibly, and her cheeks flushed while she slowly reached into her hand, turning over the King.

  Henry rose and clapped. “Hurrah! Miss Greystock, good show!”

  Tabitha forgot to look appropriately disappointed in their loss as she jumped up. “Oh congratulations to you both!” And she wished to say “good show” to Sir James as well. But her words stuck in her throat as the Ace fell to the table under his hand. He winked at Miss Greystock, whose expression was unreadable. But the glow of pink on her cheeks spoke for her.

 
; Henry collected the cards. “So a waltz it is, then?” His eyes held hope and a touch of boyish excitement.

  She held out her hand. “I look forward to it.” Then she moved her feet into the one, two, three pattern. “We can practice those steps the dance master drilled into us.”

  He pulled her closer and ran a finger along her chin. “This time, I won’t be practicing to dance with others. This time it will be for you.”

  She swallowed and nodded. Oh, why could she think of nothing to say! She desperately hoped not to dissuade him, hoped he would continue in these new attentions.

  Somehow, in the few minutes they were distracted, Miss Greystock and the footmen had rolled back carpets, and a young lady or two had been engaged to take turns at the piano. A classic German waltz filled the room while couples paired off.

  They moved to the center of the floor. Henry held her hand out to the side, and the very manner in which he encompassed her fingers in his own, the protective, gentle care, created such a yearning inside she wished to never leave his embrace.

  The music began. He led them in a small circle, the slight pressure of his hand moving her forward and back, their feet counting out the beats without much thought. Just as she had dreamed, the others in the room faded, and the world narrowed to two. His gaze never left her own. She stared into his depths, silently asking, can this be real? He was the same Henry she had always known, and yet, a deference she had never recognized returned her intensity and searched her soul. His gaze wandered her face, drinking her in. When someone opened the outside doors, he led her through them, swirling and moving faster until she felt as if they flew, her feet barely touching the floor. With the night stars above, they moved swiftly, and took larger steps, spinning and laughing.