by Regina Scott
“You intend to participate in this hunt?”
His gaze met hers, and, though he didn’t look any less merry than usual, his expression was undeniably sincere. “Your father will demand an accounting of you. I will not be the reason you are scolded again. Or worse.”
She knew her attempt at a smile fell a bit short. “He grows more frantic with each passing day. I believe there is little hope of avoiding the ‘or worse’ outcome.”
He took her hand in his and raised it to his lips, pressing a tender kiss to the back of her hand. “We will do our best today and pray that his good sense wins out in the end.”
They sat on a bench situated beneath the boughs of a greenwood tree on a small path of the garden. He pulled a folded sheet of paper from his coat pocket and opened it. Agatha leaned her head against his shoulder and simply breathed. With him, she felt less burdened, less worried.
“The list is not terribly long, but it is decidedly odd.”
“Fitting,” Agatha said.
He chuckled quietly. “We are charged with gathering, amongst other equally confusing items, ‘the first arrival of morning’ and ‘that which runs but does not walk, has a mouth but does not talk.’”
“So long as this challenge is straightforward,” she said dryly.
“And we have until five o’clock this evening to bring these simple and, no doubt, easily obtained items to the drawing room.”
“What shall we do with all the extra time we will certainly have?”
He shifted the list into one hand and took hold of hers with the other. It was the most natural position in the world to sit with their hands clasped, her head resting against him.
“‘The first arrival of morning.’ What do you suppose that means?” he asked.
“If one is wealthy enough, the first arrival of morning might be the chambermaid stoking the fire.” She had heard that those with a substantial income never had to awaken in a cold room.
“I, for one, cannot countenance the idea of pulling one of the overworked servants away from her duties for the sake of this game, can you?”
“Not at all.” She sat up more fully. “Perhaps we could come back to that riddle.”
At that exact moment, Tom and Henrietta hurried past. They stopped long enough for Tom to toss a challenge to his brother. “We’ve solved one of the riddles. You’d best hurry if you’re to catch us.”
“Or you could tell us the answer,” Edward suggested with a grin.
Tom only laughed. The happy couple continued on their way.
“They seem well suited,” Agatha said, watching them disappear through the gate at the far end of the garden.
“Extremely well suited. I have spent some time the past couple of days getting to know Miss Sumner better, and I cannot imagine someone who would make my brother happier than she would. And I firmly believe he would do the same for her.”
“Then why do you sound so downtrodden when you speak of them?” She could not mistake the sadness in his tone.
“What future do they have? He is the younger son of a penniless family. She is the dowerless daughter of a bankrupt spendthrift.”
“I hadn’t thought of that.” She held more tightly to Edward’s hand, thinking of more than Tom and Henrietta’s predicament. She and Edward were in a similar situation. Though it was likely presumptuous of her to think along these lines, she knew herself to be well and truly attached to him, her tender feelings going beyond mere friendship. But he was as penniless as his brother. And while her family’s circumstances were not the result of irresponsibility on the part of her father, the end result was the same.
“The river.” Edward spoke the two words as if he’d experienced a life-altering epiphany.
“The river?”
He turned to her with wide eyes. “The second item on the list. ‘Runs but doesn’t walk, mouth but doesn’t talk.’ It’s a river.”
He was right, of course. “How are we supposed to bring a river into the drawing room?”
He shrugged. “Perhaps there is something down there we are supposed to fetch?” He stood, his hand still in hers. “The least we can do is check.”
“Together. We can check together.”
Once more he kissed her hand. “I wouldn’t wish to spend the afternoon any other way.”
It seemed he was as fond of her as she was of him. But did he realize what a risk that was? “My family is destitute.”
“I know. Otherwise you wouldn’t be at this party.” He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm.
She walked at his side. “My family is impoverished. Yours is penniless. It is rather like . . . like . . .”
“Tom and Henrietta,” he finished for her.
She realized in that moment how presumptuous her warning had been. He was fond of her, yes, but she had assumed he felt enough to need a reminder of their respective futures.
His arm slid free of hers and slipped across her back, pulling her against his side as they continued their ambling walk toward the back of the property. “I have every intention of enjoying the remainder of this party without letting myself think about pennilessness or spendthrifts or destitution.”
“That significantly limits our potential topics of conversation, leaving us with only the discomfort of various fabrics and listing the kingdom’s rivers in alphabetical order.”
“The Aire. The Avon. The Bann.” Edward counted off the rivers on his fingers. “The Clyde.”
She raised up on her toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek.
He turned a smoldering smile on her. “If I list four more rivers, will you kiss me again?”
“Anything can happen during a house party search game.”
He laughed. “That is very useful information.”
Tender feeling. Fondness. The words she’d been using to describe her feelings for him were proving inadequate. She missed him when he wasn’t there, looked for him when even the slightest chance existed of him arriving. A weight lifted off her shoulders and her heart when they were together.
Agatha Holmwood had done the unthinkable: she’d allowed herself to fall in love.
For twenty-one years, she’d been careful not to grow attached to a gentleman. There was so little chance of a happy ending, that she’d avoided even the beginnings of love.
“It seems we weren’t the only ones who realized the second clue referred to the river.” Edward motioned to the smattering of couples along the river. “But I don’t believe anyone yet knows what to do about it.”
She couldn’t bring herself to join in the banter. “We’ll simply pluck a leaf from one of trees along the bank.”
Agatha wrapped her arms around her middle and turned away. With a moment’s effort, she might manage to settle her thoughts and calm her heart enough to keep a level head.
“Agatha?” He’d followed close on her heels. “What’s the matter, dear?”
Dear. She couldn’t be certain he meant anything by the word other than an offhand casual endearment. She was even less sure which she would prefer.
“I’ve had a rather miserable week, Edward.” It was true, though perhaps not the entire explanation for her depressed spirits.
He stepped around her, facing her once more. He set his hands on her arms. “One more miserable week, Agatha, and you need never see Mrs. Warrick again.”
“One week.” She could even smile. “I can survive another week.”
His arms slipped around her, and he clasped his hands behind her back. “You might even manage to enjoy the next week.”
“I might, at that.”
“We didn’t pluck a leaf from the riverbank,” he said, his expression one of theatrical concern. “We might lose this challenge.”
“I think we still have time.” Her smile only grew as she stood there in his arms. Things weren’t likely to end well between them, but, as he’d said, she could enjoy the next week. She intended to.
One corner of his mouth twitched upward. “I don’t thi
nk you are dedicated enough to winning this search.”
“And I think this afternoon has been . . . nearly perfect.”
He took the tiniest step closer to her. “How would one go about removing the word nearly from that sentence?” His low voice rumbled in the sliver of space between them.
She knew exactly what would make the moment perfect. “I don’t believe it’s on your treasure list.”
He arched a single golden eyebrow. “‘A mouth, but not talking.’ That’s on my list.”
She forced back her growing grin. “Are you telling me I talk too much?”
He leaned in, a mere breath away, and whispered, “That is not at all what I am saying.”
His lips brushed over hers, the touch feather light. Her heart answered loudly, pounding and racing and dancing about. His hands spread against her back, pulling her flush with him. He kissed her again, more earnestly, more fervently.
She slid her arms around his neck and lost herself in the warmth of his affection. She had imagined such a moment, but had never truly believed it possible. A girl with no dowry, no family connections, lived her life knowing she was destined to be alone.
But this moment, this glorious moment, pushed all thoughts of loneliness from her mind, replacing the worry with hope.
Chapter Seven
The Warricks proved oddly specific in their required items. A scone, which apparently was the first arrival of morning. A cup of water from the river. An unburned candle. A badly burned twig. And a cabbage.
No one arrived with even a single correct item. Tom and Henrietta were noticeably disappointed, but took it in stride, spending a great deal of time smiling at one another, utterly content in one another’s company. Isley and most of the other guests looked fit to be tied, speaking curtly with one another and quickly losing their friendly edge.
Edward, however, considered himself the victor. Three days passed without that kiss leaving his thoughts. It had been the impulse of a moment, a passing fancy. But everything had changed.
He’d told himself again and again that he felt nothing but fondness for her. Until he’d held her in his arms, until he’d kissed her, he’d managed to believe it. But he had to admit that she wasn’t merely a friend. He loved her.
He, who had nothing to offer, no means of providing for the two of them, was in love with a lady who had even less to her name than he did and even less hope of changing her circumstances. He’d bemoaned Tom’s impossible love, but he, himself, was in no better a position than his brother.
A nudge from that brother brought him back into the present. His woolgathering had distracted him so much he’d not noticed their hosts had risen and were addressing the assembly.
“As I am certain you have all realized, only a few days remain of this house party.” Mr. Warrick gave them all a pitying, commiserating look. “Mrs. Warrick and I are not yet firmly decided on who amongst you will be named the beneficiaries of our estate. As such, this evening we will be undertaking a more pointed attempt to make that decision.”
The entire room was silent, hanging on every word he spoke. For the first time, Edward felt tempted to really make a push for himself. He had, as he’d promised Agatha, participated in the many activities the Warricks had thus far used to sort them all, but he hadn’t made any eager attempts to capture their interest or approval.
She sat in the seat beside the one Mrs. Warrick had vacated. How her father had arranged it, Edward couldn’t say, but Agatha hadn’t left her hostess’s side in more than a week. Mrs. Warrick seemed pleased with the arrangement, taking full advantage of a young lady who was more or less required to do or fetch or say anything Mrs. Warrick required. Agatha barely concealed her misery.
“Our final request from all of you, and then we promise you can spend the rest of this house party quietly, filling your days with whatever suits or fancy, is this—” Mr. Warrick paused, letting his gaze slowly take them all in.
Edward leaned forward, wondering if there was any chance of winning their approval this late in the effort.
“We will invite each of you, one at a time, to join us in the small sitting room at the east of the house, where we mean to ask you a few questions.”
That was surprisingly reasonable. Indeed, if they had taken this approach from the beginning, the entire affair would not have been so distasteful. He met Tom’s eye, and they exchanged looks of shocked approval. Tom, Edward knew perfectly well, was quite personable and easy to talk with. This latest would-be heir challenge ought to be a relatively easy one.
“We will begin,” Mr. Warrick said, eyeing a piece of parchment in his hand, “with Miss Henrietta Sumner.”
At the sound of her name, Henrietta, who sat on Tom’s other side, lost every drop of color in her face. Tom offered her a reassuring smile, and she seemed to rally a little. Across the room, where many of the ladies had gathered to fawn over their hostess, Mrs. Sumner rose and motioned her daughter anxiously toward the door to the drawing room.
The Sumner ladies left, every eye in the room watching them. The Warricks departed close on their heels. Not a single word was said. Edward wasn’t certain anyone was even breathing. Tonight was to be their final opportunity at escaping the nightmare of their own poverty. It would not be the lighthearted gathering most house parties were.
The moment the door closed behind their hosts, the room erupted. The guests turned to each other, frantically discussing this new development. Futures hinged on that night’s events. Dreams and lives and hopes were at stake.
Edward quickly checked on Mr. Holmwood. Finding him distracted in earnest conversation with Isley, of all people, Edward slipped across the room into the empty chair next to Agatha.
She spoke first. “What do you suppose the Warricks mean to ask everyone?”
“No doubt something invasive and demeaning.” Edward wished he could believe something better of them, but the past three weeks had taught him otherwise. “How are you? I cannot help but notice you don’t look happy.”
“I’m tired. My father spent most of the morning lecturing me. Apparently, I’m not living up to expectations.”
Edward slipped his hand in hers. It was still too bold, considering they were not alone, but he couldn’t help himself. He cared about her. He cared deeply. And he couldn’t bear to see her unhappy. “He does not appreciate you as he ought.”
She smiled a tiny bit. “At the very least, I ought to be given tremendous credit for spending so many endless hours with Mrs. Warrick.”
“You are down to only three days,” he reminded her.
“I know. Counting down has been the one thing that has saved my sanity.” Her expression turned contemplative. “Do you suppose the heir they choose will be forced to live with them the remainder of their lives?”
Edward hadn’t thought of that terrible possibility. “That seems a steep price to pay for a mere fortune.”
With relief, he watched some of the burden leave her eyes. She was tired, that much was clear. But underneath the exhaustion and the worry, she was still the happy, witty, lighthearted lady he had come to cherish.
“Does your father seem less determined to toss you from the family home?” Edward asked. He had hoped Mr. Holmwood would come to his senses, but far too much worry had lingered in the older gentleman’s eyes for Edward’s mind to be at all at ease.
“I cannot say with any certainty,” Agatha said. “If tonight really is the last challenge the Warricks mean to give us, I suppose I will know before morning what my father’s intentions are.”
He held her hand and squeezed her fingers, hoping the show of support was understood. Her tiny smile was not the least bit confident. If only the Downys had any prospects. If only he were in a position to actually help.
She slipped her hand from his, though he knew it was not out of displeasure. They were in a crowded drawing room, and there was no understanding between them. He remained at her side as, one by one, the guests were called out to speak with Mr. and
Mrs. Warrick. No one who had already been summoned had returned. It seemed the topic of discussion was meant to be kept secret.
When but a small handful remained, the footman who had been charged with announcing the next chosen for their tête-à-tête with the Warricks entered once more, cleared his throat, and said, “Mr. Edward Downy.”
“The best of luck to you,” Agatha whispered.
Edward gave a quick nod with what he hoped was an expression of calmness. He followed the footman’s rigid back down the corridor to the sitting room. He entered to find Mr. and Mrs. Warrick sitting in matching armchairs, facing him. They put him in mind of the king and queen holding court and accepting petitions from the peasants. How fitting.
"Mr. Downy.” Mr. Warrick motioned him inside. “We spoke with your brother only a few minutes ago.”
“Yes, I know.” Did they think he hadn’t noticed his brother’s departure?
“He seems a good sort of gentleman,” Mrs. Warrick observed. “But he is the younger son, is he not?”
“It is the oddest thing,” Edward responded, not bothering to hide his dry tone, “but I have often noticed that even a younger son can be a good sort of gentleman.”
Mrs. Warrick responded with nothing beyond the slightest tightening of her lips. “Shall we begin?”
“I would prefer that we did.” Edward had contemplated the possibility of making one final attempt at winning the fortune they offered, but he simply couldn’t force himself to participate in their farce.
Mrs. Warrick folded her hands on her lap and watched him with a beatific look. Edward wasn’t fooled. He’d come to realize that both halves of this couple were equally shrewd.
“We will ask you what we have asked everyone else,” Mr. Warrick said. “Why, Edward Downy, should we choose you, and not any of the other guests, as our heir?”
For a moment, he couldn’t respond. They were asking him to plead his case? Not only that, but to argue against the others? “You must know my situation already, otherwise I would not have been invited.”
“We know what is generally known,” Mr. Warrick said. “We wish for more. Why are you in particular the best choice? Do you need this more than anyone else? Are you more deserving?”
