by Lara Temple
He went to the door and stopped, his hand on the knob.
‘Intelligence isn’t maturity, Genny. You’re long on one and sometimes frighteningly short on the other. That’s a dangerous combination and one day it will burn you badly.’
* * *
Kit closed the door as quietly as the explosive mix of fury, lust, and hurt allowed him. It was the dignified thing to do, but he was almost tempted to open it again and slam it shut so hard it shook the whole of Carrington Hall. Shook it right into rubble.
He strode down the corridor, but stopped at the sound of voices in the hall below. The deep voice of the Duke of Burford and the higher chatter of his granddaughters intermingled with Lady Sarah’s laughing tones. Beyond them he could hear the rumble of carriages on the drive.
Now he could remember why he hated this house. He could feel it shutting the cage door, pressing him deep into a corner. Except this time, he’d walked voluntarily into this cage. Invited it, even.
He wished he could leave. Ride back to Portsmouth and raise anchor on the Hesperus and leave.
He’d known this visit to England would be difficult. He hadn’t realised it would be purgatorial.
Chapter Sixteen
‘And what ring of hell are we entering today?’ Kit asked Mary, and she glanced around swiftly to see if anyone had heard. But only the two Burford girls had yet come down to breakfast, and they were surveying the dishes set out on the sideboard.
‘Hush, Kit. We have a quite unexceptionable activity arranged for today.’
‘You said that the day before yesterday, when we spent the whole day traipsing around the house as if it was a damn—dashed museum, and then you said it again yesterday when we spent the day in Weymouth, following in old King George’s footsteps along the promenade.’
‘The Duke and your grandmama have many fond memories of the town and you must admit it is a rather lovely place. I only wish it had been warm enough to try the bathing machines.’
‘I don’t. I much prefer swimming on my own in the bay.’
‘Hush. If only you would at least try and enjoy yourself.’
‘I am on my absolute best behaviour, Mary. I have never in my life made such an effort to be pleasant so far against my will.’
‘I know it, and I appreciate it, but I wish you would try and enjoy yourself.’
Kit refilled his coffee. He should be on the Hesperus’s deck now. This was his hour, after seeing to the morning rote, to go to his deck study with a book and a cup of Benja’s strong, bitter coffee. Everyone knew he was not to be interrupted unless they had run aground or were about to be boarded.
God, he missed his freedom.
To think that people actually wanted this life.
He wanted none of it. So far it had brought him nothing but headaches. And cock aches.
At least he’d held firm to his determination to steer clear of the little Field Marshal these past two days. They’d hardly talked, and when they had it had been either with the most punctilious politeness or with the sharp biting jabs he had promised himself he would not succumb to and kept succumbing to nonetheless.
At least until yesterday morning, when by a stroke of bad luck they’d found themselves alone together in the breakfast room. It had been absurdly awkward. They’d sat there like two painfully shy greenhorns, trying to think of something unexceptionable to say. Since then, they’d stopped sniping and moved to ignoring. Genny clearly shared his wish to get through this week as swiftly and painlessly as possible and forget that anything at all had happened between them.
Eventually that was what would happen: the same fate that overtook everything—it faded.
His heart hitched, stumbled down a hill, and then slowed again. He was becoming accustomed to these anatomical anomalies, but he hated it. It was like a gammy leg—it served well, nine parts out of ten, but the tenth...
He dragged his mind back to the matter at hand. ‘You still have not told me what is planned for today.’
‘Why don’t we let it be a surprise?’
‘Good God, no. Out with it. What horror have you planned?’
‘It is no horror. It should be quite enjoyable.’
‘This is sounding more and more ominous.’
‘Nonsense. It is merely a treasure hunt.
‘A treasure hunt! You are jesting!’
‘Shh! It was Lady Calista’s idea.’
‘Of course it was. Why don’t I just bury a chest full of jewels for her to find and be done with it?’
‘Now, now... It shall be great fun. What a pity Emily isn’t here. She would have enjoyed it mightily.’
Kit decided it was politic not to answer and concentrated on his coffee. He should have asked for it to be sent up to his rooms—but, besides it being impolite not to share breakfast with his guests, he was too restless. And he needed the distraction.
Just not a damned treasure hunt.
‘What does this damn—dashing idea entail?’ he asked in calmer tones. Forewarned was forearmed.
Mary greeted Lady Sarah and Lord Ponsonby, as they too entered the breakfast room and went over to the sideboard.
‘It entails,’ Mary answered, keeping her tones low, ‘the guests being divided into two groups. Each must search for a hidden object by following a series of clues. We knew you would be difficult, so Genny did not include you. Unless you wish to be included. We shall say you have hidden the clues and so cannot in fairness take part. You need do nothing more than follow along.’
‘Does that mean they shall be crawling all over the house again?’
‘They shall be exploring and enjoying themselves. And you shall be polite.’
‘Yes, Aunt Mary,’ he replied obediently.
The door opened and he prepared his polite face again, but it was only Genny and Serena. Genny’s eyes met his for a moment and fell away, a faint flush touching her pale cheeks. Serena went to join the others at the sideboard, but Genny sat next to Mary and pulled the teapot to her.
‘Is everything in place?’ Mary asked cheerfully.
‘Yes. You needn’t worry.’ Genny’s tones were as flat as the sea in the doldrums.
Serena sat opposite, casting a peculiar glance at her sister. ‘Are you feeling quite the thing, Genny?’
‘Of course.’
‘Oh, I’m so excited!’ Lady Calista exclaimed as she bounced into the chair next to Serena, the abundant contents of her plate very nearly finding their way onto the pristine linen. ‘I am quite certain our group shall be the first to solve all the clues.’
‘I would not wager on that, Calista. I saw the lists in the hall. I am in the competing group,’ Lady Sarah said as she sat beside her with rather more decorum.
Lady Calista’s eyes sparkled. ‘Perhaps we ought to lay a wager.’
‘You shall do no such thing, young woman,’ the Duke said as he entered the room, but he patted her affectionately on the shoulder as he passed.
‘Oh, Grandpapa!’
‘I said no. You shall have enough excitement, hunting for that treasure. Learn to be content with what you have, child.’
Lady Calista’s pout lasted only for a moment. ‘Never mind. It will be enough to know we’ve beaten you to flinders, Lady Sarah. We have Julian... Mr Carrington...on our side.’
Lady Sarah’s mouth pinched but Julian, who had settled on Genny’s other side, raised his cup in salute to his bubbly teammate.
‘You may console yourself with that dream until it is rudely shattered,’ Lady Sarah retorted and smiled across at Mary. ‘We have Lady Westford and Mrs Mary Carrington on our side, and when you are a little older you shall realise that women are far better at clues than men.’
Mary laughed, and despite his sour mood Kit couldn’t help smiling.
‘I didn’t see everyone’s names on the lists,’ Lady Sophron
ia intervened, her eyes flickering in Kit’s direction and then dancing away. ‘Which side are you on, Miss Maitland?’
Genny set down her still-full cup and folded her hands in her lap. ‘Neither, Lady Sophronia. Since I hid the clues, my role is merely to grant each group a hint if they are truly stymied.’
‘I thought Lord Westford hid the clues?’ Lady Calista said, throwing him a disappointed look.
‘I’m afraid I am as much in the dark as you are, Lady Calista. Miss Maitland is the true mastermind here.’
Genny’s chin rose, her mouth flattening, but she was clearly the only one who had heard anything questionable in his tone. Lady Calista laughed and clapped her hands.
‘Why, that is marvellous. Then you can play. You must be on our team.’
‘I think it wouldn’t be fair play to have both Carrington cousins on one team. Since they grew up here, they have an advantage, don’t they?’ said Mr Caversham as he sat beside his daughter.
Since Miss Caversham was in Lady Sarah’s group, his suggestion was a trifle transparent and his poor daughter turned an unfortunate beet-red. Kit, who’d had no intention of voluntarily joining the game, found himself smiling across at the young woman.
‘You’re quite right, Caversham. I value fair play above all else—it is so hard to come by. I shall add my name to the list. Unless you would rather do that, Miss Maitland?’
‘No.’
Genny’s answer was bald enough to breach even Lady Calista’s bubbliness. She threw Genny a rather puzzled look, and Serena hurried to explain the rules of the game, drawing everyone’s attention.
Kit missed most of it. He was too busy kicking himself for succumbing once again to pointless, petty sniping. Whatever Machiavellian schemes Genny engaged in, and however much he resented them—and her—he should not allow it to affect his own conduct. What he should do was play the game and count the hours until he left all this behind.
* * *
‘“Enlightened One by any other name.” What can it mean?’ Lady Sarah smoothed out the strip of paper they’d discovered in the music chest, where their previous clue had led them.
Kit was about to speak when Miss Caversham cleared her throat nervously.
‘Roses?’
The team turned to her and she shrank back a little.
He smiled encouragingly. ‘What made you think of roses, Miss Caversham?’
‘The quote. “A rose by any other name would smell as sweet”?’
She seemed to finish most of her sentences with a question.
‘I think you are right. Shall we go to the rose garden?’ He held out his arm and Mr Caversham beamed with pride, which only made his daughter’s blush deepen.
‘But what does “Enlightened One” mean?’ asked Lady Sarah as she fell into step on his other side as they entered the garden. ‘Is that the name of a rose?’
‘Sounds like what you’d name a saint, or something,’ Lord Lansdowne replied as he helped Mary down the steps. ‘Maybe one of the roses is called Bishop or Cardinal or something. They have Mrs Serena Carrington on their team for all the horticultural questions, so we’d best ask Lady Westford.’
‘It’s not a rose,’ Kit answered.
He had no wish to draw this out any longer than necessary. Lady Westford and the Duke had very early on abandoned their respective teams to offer their support from the comfort of the card room, where Genny sat in readiness to supply the teams with their one hint.
‘Oh, you know what it is!’ Lady Sarah exclaimed, with an enthusiasm that would have done Lady Calista proud. ‘Why did you not say?’
‘Fair play. I thought you ought at least to work for it. And Miss Caversham has proved I was right to trust your abilities.’
They entered the garden and he led them to its centre, where a small pedestal that had once housed a sundial now supported a stone statue of the Buddha he had sent Emily years ago. The roses were in full bloom and the garden bathed in an intoxicating rainbow of scents. Once again he was struck by the almost reluctant realisation that Carrington House was a place where someone could, and should, be very happy.
The Buddha certainly looked content with his setting.
The group fanned around it.
‘He doesn’t look very enlightened,’ said Lord Ponsonby. ‘Saints usually look rather more serious. This fellow looks like he’s contemplating a good joke. Either that or picking a thorn out of his finger.’
‘This fellow is called Buddha. He lived well over two thousand years ago and was the founder of the religion of Buddhism. He is often called the Enlightened One or the Awakened One.’
‘Well, I don’t see how we were to know that. And he certainly looks more asleep than awake.’
‘Papa!’ Miss Caversham reproved as he and Lord Ponsonby laughed at the jest.
Lady Sarah went over to inspect the statue. ‘Whatever the case, here is our last clue.’
The group clustered round her and Kit gave a silent sigh of relief.
‘Almost over,’ Mary whispered to him—just as there was a distinctive cry from the direction of the house.
They all turned as Lady Calista’s high tones carried joyfully through the air. ‘We won! We won! Oh, I do wish you had let me place a wager, Grandpapa.’
‘Oh, dear,’ said Lady Sarah with an uncharacteristic slipping of her mask as she balled up the strip of paper with the clue and tossed it back onto the pedestal. ‘She is going to be more insufferable than ever now.’
* * *
‘Julian was marvellous,’ Lady Calista said as they all gathered in the conservatory, having completely discarded formalities in the excitement of the chase. ‘We had already used our hint, and were convinced we were all done for, when suddenly he practically rode to the rescue on a great white steed when he remembered that marvellous portrait of the Fifth Earl in the hallway. Why, I must have seen it a dozen times since we arrived, but I never noticed there was the dog at his feet. And I certainly had never looked at the name on its collar.’
She cast Julian an adoring look as she took another grape from the fruit bowl.
‘What can I say?’ Julian smiled as he sat on the sofa next to Genny. ‘I love animals. Of all kinds.’
Lady Sophronia actually tittered, but Lady Sarah’s fine lips curled a little in distaste.
‘I don’t think “love” is quite the correct verb to employ in your case, Mr Carrington.’
Surprised silence followed this uncharacteristically blunt blow from Lady Sarah, and then her father rushed into speech.
‘Hard to believe the week is almost over. You shall be leaving soon for your sister’s wedding, won’t you, Lord Westford?’
‘Yes. In three days.’
‘And then? Back here or to London?’
‘To Portsmouth,’ Kit replied. ‘My ship is there.’
Again conversation floundered, and then Miss Caversham’s sweet and seldom heard voice piped up.
‘You are leaving England again?’
Kit knew the answer to that, but for a moment he couldn’t seem to find it. He latched on to the one certainty—the Hesperus was waiting for him. The life he knew and trusted.
‘Yes. Of course. We are sailing for France and then Italy.’
‘I hope you will bring back some more of that marvellous Montepulciano,’ Julian said with a mocking smile as he surveyed the guests’ responses to this news.
They were varied, and swiftly hidden behind polite masks. But Kit could see disappointment, annoyance, distaste, and—touchingly—on Miss Caversham’s face, regret.
Genny’s face showed no expression at all. She was still looking as stiff as she had at breakfast.
Julian leaned towards her to ask her something, but she shook her head without answering. Her hands, Kit noted, were still folded in her lap, but they didn’t look in the least restful. The
y were held tightly, her knuckles slightly pale. It struck him that she too was pale and had been since breakfast.
Not that it was any of his concern. His concern was to reach the quiet of his rooms and refresh his store of patience and good manners so he could survive three more days of this...
Howich entered, his gaze seeking Genny, and she stood stiffly and after a moment’s hesitation went towards the butler.
With a word of excuse Kit rose to join them.
‘Is something wrong?’ he asked, and Howich gave a slight bow.
He seemed to expect Genny to answer, but when she remained silent he shook his head. ‘No, my lord. I was merely enquiring whether we should set back dinner half an hour to give the guests time to rest, seeing as the treasure hunt took longer than expected. If so we had best decide now, so that Cook may adjust her timetable.’
Still Genny said nothing so Kit spoke.
‘If Cook can manage it, then I think that is wise, Howich.’
Howich bowed and left, and as Genny turned back towards the others Kit touched her arm, stopping her, lowering his voice.
‘If this silence is some form of punishment for what you imagine to be a slight against you, I should tell you I’m damned if I’m apologising, Genny. You were utterly at fault and you know it.’
‘I have the headache,’ she said, and he laughed, all the resentment he’d managed to tuck away during the day’s activities filling his vessel to the brim.
‘Surely you can do better than that threadbare excuse, sweetheart?’
‘Don’t call me that!’ Her voice sounded as raw as his nerves.
‘No, you’re not very sweet, are you? You might smell like orange blossom but you have the bite and sting of a lemon. Are you certain it is a headache, or are you merely finding it hard to stomach Lady Calista winding her ivy around Julian?’
She finally looked at him. Her face was pale, but there were harsh spots of colour on her cheeks and the fury and loathing in her eyes were utterly unveiled.
