The Playful Wanton

by Farmer, Merry

  Eliza had never been so happy to be manhandled. “Is he following?” she whispered as they made their way to the grand staircase in the front hall.

  Adolphus checked over his shoulder then answered, “Yes.”

  By the time they made their way up to the second floor and found the nursery, tucked away at the far end of the east wing, Henry had relaxed into the game somewhat. Eliza was far from relaxed, though she did her best to pretend otherwise.

  “Which game do you suppose we must play to find the next clue?” she asked as the four of them stood near the door to the nursery.

  Though Caro and Rufus had no children as of yet and Rufus’s siblings were all too old for a nursery, the room was arranged as though for immediate occupation. A child’s size table sat in the middle of the room with tiny chairs around it. Painted wooden blocks were scattered across the tabletop, waiting to be built with. A magnificent doll’s house sat in one corner of the room, its furnishings beautiful and elaborate, a family of dolls sitting in the tiny parlor. A slate and tray of chalk stood against one wall, half the alphabet already written out. Various other toys—from balls to hoops to dolls—were scattered around the room.

  “We may have to play all of them,” Eliza said, wondering what Caro had had in mind for her guests before the urgency of Henry had turned things sour.

  “Nonsense,” Henry said. “I’m not going to waste my time playing children’s games.”

  “You aren’t man enough?” Adolphus asked.

  Henry’s transformation was astounding. Eliza couldn’t have coaxed him into action in any better way. The air of nervousness about him vanished, replaced by furious challenge. He glared at Adolphus as though they’d decided on pistols at dawn.

  “What do you plan to do, sir?” he asked. “Play with dolls?”

  “If it will lead me to the prize before anyone else, yes,” Adolphus answered, then marched straight across the room to the dollhouse.

  Eliza giggled before she could stop herself and followed him. The sight of large, strong Adolphus, Bow Street Runner, sitting on the floor in front of a magnificently feminine dollhouse and snatching up the father doll was enough to warm her heart for years to come.

  Not to be outdone, Henry stomped his way to the table, pulling out one of the tiny chairs, and sitting in it. He looked like a giant trying to fit in among humans as he reached for some of the blocks on the table and began turning them over. Lady Rothsay rushed to his aid, sitting just as humorously as he was.

  “The clue is likely hidden inside of one of these toys,” Eliza whispered as she took up one of the dolls and checked under her skirts.

  “Yes,” Adolphus agreed. “But is this enough of a diversion to keep Ward occupied?”

  They both looked over his shoulders to where Henry and Lady Rothsay were turning over every block on the table, and even tapping them to be certain none were boxes in disguise.

  “It seems to be working well so far,” Eliza said.

  Adolphus hummed noncommittally as he took a sofa out of the dollhouse parlor and turned it over, checking for clues. He followed that by lifting the rug, then checking behind the tiny bookshelf.

  Eliza took a different approach. “Dear me, wherever could I have left my clue?” she said in a childlike voice, miming a search of the dining room with the mother doll. “It must be here somewhere.”

  Adolphus sent her a flat look as she pranced the doll through the dining room, as if the doll were searching. “We don’t have time for silliness,” he said.

  “But is the whole thing not silliness?” she said, still miming with the doll instead of speaking to him directly.

  Adolphus sighed, taking the father doll and standing him in front of Eliza’s doll in the dining room. “Life is not silly,” he said through the doll, though without changing his voice. “It is hard work and effort.”

  “But there must be time for fun as well,” Eliza had her doll say.

  “If you want fun,” Adolphus began, moving his doll out of the dining room and into the dollhouse bedroom.

  Eliza laughed, putting her doll in the bedroom as well. “Yes, please, Mr. Gibbon,” she said, miming her doll rushing across the room and throwing herself at Adolphus’s doll.

  She would have carried on, in spite of the fact that Henry and Lady Rothsay had moved on to searching the pile of dolls and soft toys in the far corner of the room, except for the harried-looking hall boy that dashed into the room and straight over to Adolphus.

  “If you please, sir,” the boy said, thrusting a hand with a folded piece of paper in it at Adolphus.

  Adolphus abandoned his doll and turned to take the note from the boy. If the boy saw anything odd in a large man sitting on the floor of a nursery playing with a dollhouse, he didn’t say. He turned and dashed out of the room immediately.

  Adolphus glanced to Eliza before opening the note. Eliza shifted so that she could read it as he did.

  “Beggn yer pardn, mister Gibbn, sir. I saw mister Ward arrive an got scred if he cees me heel kilt me like he dun Bob. I gone int hydn, but ye cn find mee wit the pryz at the end o the hunt.”

  “What the devil,” Adolphus grumbled.

  “Miss Ivy is hiding with the prize at the end of the hunt?” Eliza asked in a low voice.

  “You,” Henry called from across the room, leaving the dolls and marching toward them. “Are you cheating? What did that boy bring you?”

  “Business,” Adolphus said, rushing to stand.

  “I think you’re cheating,” Henry insisted as Eliza scrambled to her feet as well. “Let me see the clue. Let me see it.”

  Eliza caught her breath, certain there would be a fight and that Henry would run.

  The only thing that stopped the inevitable was Lady Rothsay’s sudden shriek. Eliza was convinced the woman had hurt herself until she straightened, brandishing a slip of paper. “I found it,” she squealed. “I found the next clue.”

  Henry glared at Adolphus, then twisted to face Lady Rothsay, as if torn.

  Lady Rothsay opened the folded paper and read in a rushed, breathless voice, “I am the pride of Iberia, friend of Lope de Vega and Miguel de Cervantes. Find me and you will find glory.”

  “Is that it?” Eliza asked. “Is that the final clue?”

  “She is with the prize,” Adolphus said, barely audible.

  Henry must have heard part of his statement but perhaps not all of it. He narrowed his eyes. “You do want to win the prize, don’t you?”

  A flush painted Adolphus’s cheeks. “Any man would be a fool not to want great wealth,” he said.

  Henry’s entire demeanor changed. Suddenly, it seemed as though he thought of Adolphus entirely as a rival—for the prize and perhaps for Eliza—not a Runner who might bring him to justice. And as with every man Eliza had ever known, now that he saw Adolphus differently, the flash of competition was hot in his eyes.

  “You won’t win,” he said.

  “I will.” Adolphus stepped toe to toe with him. “Because I know what the clue is referring to.” He broke into a sly grin.

  “The Spanish parlor,” Lady Rothsay blurted, ruining Adolphus’s upper hand. “The next clue is in the Spanish parlor.”

  Eliza would have rolled her eyes at the woman’s outburst, but there was no time. Instantly, they all dashed into motion, running for the door.

  Chapter 8

  It was a mad scramble, worthy of the children who had once occupied the nursery. In spite of the dread of having Henry as part of her group, in spite of the ache of old memories he’d brought up, and in spite of her sizzling feelings toward Adolphus, Eliza found herself giggling like mad along with Lady Rothsay as the two of them raced downstairs and through the halls toward the Spanish parlor.

  “This is well beneath my dignity,” Lady Rothsay laughed as the two of them skidded around the final corner, Adolphus and Henry jogging to keep up. “A widow of my age….”

  “We are only young once, but we can be immature forever,” Eliza told he
r as they skidded to a halt in front of the door to the Spanish parlor.

  Lady Rothsay laughed aloud, but quickly swallowed the sound at the sight of the forbidding butler who stood solidly in front of the Spanish parlor’s doors.

  “Let us through,” Adolphus said, eyeing the butler with particular vehemence.

  “Begging your pardon, sir,” the butler said, “but I have been instructed to inform you that this entrance to the Spanish parlor is unavailable at the moment, and that you may enter through the adjacent parlor.”

  Eliza remembered all about the adjacent parlor. It was the space where Felicity had lured Lord Cunningham into humiliating himself in front of a crowd of party guests waiting for an evening’s entertainment. She broke away from the door and the others and hurried several yards along the hall to the smaller parlor’s door.

  Once again, however, she and the others were met with a surprise.

  “Actors only?” Lady Rothsay read the sign that hung on the door. “Whatever does that mean?”

  “No good, I’m certain,” Adolphus said, resting a hand on the small of Eliza’s back. It was a simple gesture, but it spoke volumes about the way Adolphus’s patience was running out and how much he cared for Eliza’s well-being in the mad hunt.

  “Are you a coward, Gibbon?” Henry asked. For the first time since he’d arrived at the house party, his expression was one of fun and excitement without any of the anxiety or suspicion he’d developed since discovering Adolphus.

  “Hardly,” Adolphus growled, then turned the handle and pushed the door open.

  The moment the four of them stepped into the small parlor, pandemonium reigned.

  “You’re late, you’re late,” Rufus announced, grabbing each one in turn and shoving them deeper into the room, toward his brother Thaddeus and Lady Imogen Marlowe—who were beside themselves with giggles as they pulled what appeared to be costumes out of a large trunk. “The curtains will part in a matter of moments. You will receive your final clue once the play is done.”

  “Once the play is done?” Henry protested, attempting to bat away Rufus’s shoves as they were herded toward the costume trunk.

  “Yes, yes,” Rufus went on, playing the part of the director to perfection. “Here are your scripts. All you need to do is read the lines that have been highlighted for you.” He shoved thin scripts into each of their hands even as Thaddeus began tossing costumes in their direction.

  “At least the play is short,” Adolphus grumbled, then balked at the script he’d been handed. “Hang on. Dulcinea?”

  “Don Quixote,” Lady Rothsay exclaimed, bursting into laughter once more.

  “Is that the play we are meant to perform?” Eliza glanced at the front page of her script.

  “No, that is the role I have been given,” Lady Rothsay went on.

  “Oh.” Rufus seemed a bit disappointed. “I may have given you the wrong script.”

  He made a move toward Eliza, but before he could do more, Lady Rothsay clutched her script to her chest. “Oh no. I have always wanted to play the lead in a theatrical production. I shall be the best Don Quixote any stage has ever seen.”

  Eliza’s grin grew as she saw the name “Sancho” on her script. “And I shall be your faithful servant,” she said, skipping to Lady Rothsay’s side.

  “I will not play a female role,” Adolphus protested.

  But it was already too late. Thaddeus came at him with what appeared to be a bundle of rose-colored fabric which he tossed over Adolphus’s head. The fabric turned out to be a dress, and before Adolphus could do more than squirm and flail in an attempt to prevent himself from being dressed in the costume, it was too late.

  “Fine,” he sighed, as irritated as Eliza had ever seen him. “I will indulge in this farce if it results in us being given the final clue.”

  Imogen gestured for Eliza and Lady Rothsay to join her at the costume trunk, where they were handed trousers and doublets, as Henry roared with laughter. Unlike Lady Rothsay’s laughter, his was bitterly unkind as he pointed at Adolphus.

  “You look like a first-rate pouf,” he snorted.

  Adolphus looked as though he wanted to murder the man—which Eliza knew full well he already wanted to do for other reasons—until Thaddeus sheathed him in a costume as well.

  “Hang on,” Henry shouted as it became clear he, too, had been shoved into a dress. He checked the script in his hand. “Nurse?” he snapped. “Who the devil is the nurse?”

  “You are,” Rufus told him, forcing Henry’s arms into his dress’s sleeves then spinning him to tie it in the back. Once that was done, he clapped loudly and declared, “Places everyone.”

  Eliza finished putting on her breeches, then dashed over to Adolphus’s side while doing up her doublet. “The play cannot be more than five pages,” she whispered to him, having an impossible time not bursting into giggles. “All we have to do is say the lines, rush through, and then receive our clue.”

  “This is ridiculous,” Adolphus said. “Worse than being forced to play with dolls.”

  Eliza arched a brow. “No one forced you to play with the dolls.”

  Adolphus answered with a wordless, noncommittal grumble.

  “Let’s get this over with,” Henry sighed, letting Rufus lead him to a spot that was marked out with chalk on one side of the room, beside the heavy curtains.

  Rufus positioned the others as well, all with a sense of haste and mischief. “Now,” he said when they were all exactly where he wanted them. “I will give you the final clue if and only if you perform the play ’til its end. Is that understood?”

  “Yes,” Eliza and Lady Rothsay answered enthusiastically. Adolphus and Henry added grumbles that might have been assent.

  “Very well then.” Rufus stepped to the side, grabbed hold of the curtain’s thick cords, and pulled. “You may begin.”

  Eliza checked her script to see who had the first line, but was instantly thrown by the swell of applause that followed in the wake of the curtain being opened.

  Lady Rothsay exclaimed, “Good Lord.”

  Adolphus and Henry both let out oaths that were far stronger.

  For there, spread out in front of them in the Spanish parlor proper, seated in at least a dozen rows, were the majority of the rest of the house party guests. They all wore smiles of expectation and seemed eager to see a show. Many of them were drinking tea and eating biscuits as they waited for things to begin, as if the play were more of a circus entertainment than a proper theatrical performance.

  Of course, from the moment the curtain opened, very little happened other than the four of them standing there in their ridiculous costumes, gaping at the audience.

  “Give us a show,” someone shouted from the back of the room.

  “Yes, we’ve been waiting here for an hour,” a lady seconded him.

  Most surprisingly of all, Lady Oliphant, the Duchess of Cavendish, who Eliza was surprised to see had returned to the house party, sat in the front row. She called out, “We’ve had three groups fail to perform for us already. Which, as I understand it, means they have dropped out of the competition for Lady Herrington’s prize as well.”

  Eliza lit up at the comment and turned toward Adolphus. He was too far away from her for any sort of private exchange, but the time had passed for secrecy.

  “That means we’re close to winning,” she said, stressing everything she wasn’t saying aloud. “If we can just get through the play, we can win the prize.” She stared hard at him, attempting to communicate find Miss Ivy instead.

  Adolphus glared into the wings, where Rufus looked ready to burst. Rufus signaled for him to go on.

  “Bloody hell,” Adolphus grumbled, shocking a pair of younger ladies in the front row. He sighed heavily, then held up his script. “Señor Don Quixote, what brings you to my humble inn?” he read with absolutely no feeling whatsoever.

  “It is not an inn, oh fairest of the fair,” Lady Rothsay spoke her lines with vigor. “It is the fairest castle i
n the land, and you are the most beautiful maiden I have ever seen.”

  The audience laughed loud enough to shake the chandeliers as Adolphus glared at his script, at Lady Rothsay, and at them. Eliza was convinced that the only thing that kept him going was Henry’s sneer of amusement. Adolphus simply would not be cowed by the man.

  “Sancho, is this not the most glorious maiden you have ever seen?” Lady Rothsay asked, getting even more into character.

  Eliza was forced to pay attention to the script. “Oh, sir, she is just a humble servant of the inn.” She crossed the stage, taking up a spot by Lady Rothsay’s side.

  “You cur,” Lady Rothsay exclaimed.

  The script called for Don Quixote to strike Sancho, so she raised her hand. With a wink to Eliza, she brought it down with exaggerated boldness. Eliza anticipated the blow and pretended to fall to the ground while Lady Rothsay’s hand was still a good six inches from touching her. The audience burst into laughter. For extra measure, Eliza pretended to roll and thrash about on the floor in pain. The fun of being part of such a ridiculous play was a lark, and she was as inclined as Lady Rothsay was to enjoy it.

  “What have you done, sir?” Henry asked in an improvised feminine voice that had their audience in stitches. He crossed the stage to kneel by Eliza’s side. “Here. Let me tend to your wounds as I have tended to many a fine gentleman before you.”

  The humor of the moment vanished suddenly, even though the audience continued to laugh. Henry reached for her, closing his hands around her arms and maneuvering her into a position that was as suggestive as it was subservient. Memories of the past reached up to squeeze the air out of Eliza’s lungs. It was all she could do to stop herself from weeping outright.

  But Henry, most likely spurred on by the ribald laughter, milked the moment for all it was worth. He made it as clear as day what he was thinking when it came to his position relative to Eliza’s. He even went so far as to push her flat to her back and to loom down over her.

  All at once, he was wrenched away and the audience gasped. Adolphus had him by the back of his shirt and looked as though he would pummel the man into dust.