Dancing in The Duke’s Arms

by Grace Burrowes, Shana Galen, Miranda Neville, Carolyn Jewel

  From the lawn, her victorious shout floated to him. Did she not understand she’d ruined her hat? William put his hands around his mouth and shouted, “Well played, George, well played! Double points for the hat!”

  She looked their direction and waved. Then she whirled, hat in one hand, racket in the other, and dashed into the fray.

  His brother loped toward the field, then came back and stood for several moments facing him, hands on his hips, thoughtful. “You ought to play, Stoke.”

  “I think not.”

  William looked over his shoulder at the game. Half the players now had pall-mall mallets, while the other half were in the process of destroying the tennis rackets. George had fetched another handful of metal hoops and was pacing off steps before she pushed a hoop into the ground. “We’re having a grand time.”

  “I can see that.”

  “George calls it lawn-mall.”

  He cocked his head and affected boredom. Such had always been her nature. She invented amusements where there were none, and it was a rare game she did not amend with her own version of the rules. Her penchant for invention was what had first drawn his interest. “The players are mauling my lawn.”

  William stood beside him and leaned a forearm on Stoke’s shoulder. “She’s a fetching thing,” He waved at someone on the playing field. “You ought to have come downstairs to say good morning to her. We were hoping you’d join us.”

  “I was otherwise engaged.”

  “Two minutes to say, ‘Hello, delighted to see you, George’?”

  “George is no proper name for a woman.”

  William turned serious. “Why do you dislike her so?”

  “I beg your pardon?” he said as if there were no water anywhere in the world. “I do not dislike her. Excuse me. Mr. Amblewise has agreed to lead a discussion on the sin of deception and the merits of honesty. Join us. I’m sure you’ll find the subject improving.”

  “Oh well, as for that.” He coughed once. William had got through school by relying on the intellectual prowess of Hugh Hunter. He wasn’t stupid, merely an indifferent student far more interested in physical pursuits. “I’m sure I would. Very disappointed of course, but I’ve made other plans, and I shouldn’t want anyone to think I’d not been honest about considering myself engaged.”

  “Of course not.”

  “You could join us after.”

  “For?”

  “George hid treasure somewhere on the grounds.” He dug in his pocket and pulled out a quarter sheet of foolscap. “She’s made a map, you see, and we’re to fortify ourselves with sandwiches and such and see who finds it first.”

  He gave William another searing look. “Could not your quest be delayed until after the discussion?”

  William swung his racket in a looping oval with enough force to make an annoying whoosh. “Treasure, Stoke. Whoever finds it keeps it.” He laughed heartily. “I intend to win.”

  He refused to look in the direction of the lawn where that misbegotten game continued. “What sort of treasure?”

  “Who knows? She did not say except to tell us it was treasure. She’s been devilishly clever. All the maps are different.” William waved his racket. “Have a look.” He thrust his sheet of paper at him. “She’s left out most of the directions. We’re to logic out the rest.” He swung his racket again. “Too bad Hugh isn’t here. He’d take a look at it and have the answer in a blink.”

  “You will need an alternate strategy.”

  William cackled. “I have one.”

  “Is that so?” Stoke glanced at the page. She’d drawn a large letter N on the left side with an arrow pointing to the right. He recognized the block that represented the house itself, the meandering S-curves of the serpentine, his orangery and a few other monuments. Some were connected by lines that wandered about the page or never ended anywhere. “If all of you have accurate maps, there will be a crush at the site of the treasure.”

  “I’ve no worries on that account. I’m faster and taller than most everyone. I always win at races, and this, my dear brother, is yet another race I’ll win.” He swung the racket again.

  “Perhaps I ought to ask Mr. Amblewise to speak on the subject of hubris.” He handed back the paper.

  William waved off the map. “I don’t need it.”

  “How will you win without it?”

  There’s no need to bust my noggin interpreting puzzles. I’ll leave that to the likes of you and Hugh. I’m taking one of the hounds and giving him her scent. I’ll follow her trail and”—he waved his free hand—“treasure.”

  “Is that not cheating?”

  “There’s no rule against it. I daresay George will think it clever of me.”

  The group on the lawn began shouting. William shouted back. “I told you he wouldn’t.”

  He winced at the pain of William’s bellow. His hearing, like his vision, was acute.

  “Are you sure you won’t come along?”

  “Quite.”

  “Enjoy your discussion, Stoke.” He loped off to rejoin the mad game that by now looked rather dangerous. Someone was going to get a mallet to the head. Stoke watched a while longer before he headed inside.

  Amblewise’s discussion proved a dull affair. The conversation soon left the main topic and became lost in predictions about the upcoming Cup. William was the heavy favorite. When the subject turned to Sedgemere’s ball, which was to take place the evening of the race, Stoke made his excuses.

  There was always work waiting for him. In the corridor outside, he thrust his hands into his coat pockets and encountered the paper William had given him. Ah yes. The map George had made. He studied it to be sure he’d not mistaken his earlier interpretation. He hadn’t. Intellect would defeat a bloodhound.

  He set out for the orangery, an octagon he’d built onto the existing house, taking down most of one wall and building a double door where much of that wall had been. He’d left the terrace to serve as the new floor. Outside there were now white arched, glass-paned doors and walls, precisely the striking result he’d intended. Two of the doors were open to the afternoon sun.

  He went inside and referred again to the map to orient himself. There, in an orange tree in an urn by the door, at a height just above where George’s head would reach, hung something that gleamed gold.

  Someone had affixed a string to one of the branches and to that a gold chain from which there dangled a golden apple the size of the tip of his thumb. Treasure, indeed.

  Chapter Six

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  Her golden apple was gone. How was that possible when none of the treasure seekers had returned with it? George frowned at the tree. This was most mysterious and upsetting.

  Beside her, Lord William frowned as well. “Could you have put it in another of the trees and forgotten which one?”

  “I’m sure I did not. It must have fallen.” She eyed the ground around the urn in which the orange tree grew but saw nothing. She leaned over to examine the soil. Still nothing. She made a wider search of the area around the tree. The urn sat on the paving stone that made up the floor here. If the apple had fallen, it was possible it had rolled a considerable distance.

  Meanwhile, Lord William went to the orange tree at the other side of the entrance and examined that. His was a good instinct, she decided, though if he found it there, it meant she’d lost her mind.

  “Anything?” she asked.

  “Nothing. You’re sure it was an apple?”

  “Yes. Absolutely sure.”

  Lord William rubbed chin and then the side of his face. “Gold, you say?”

  “Yes.” She joined him at the other orange tree and craned her neck. “I couldn’t have reached so near the top.”

  With a sheepish grin, he said, “You’re such a wee thing, George. And I’m a giant.”

  “You are.”

  They crouched and searched around the urn in opposite directions. When they met halfway around, she stood, bedeviled by the disappearance of the appl
e. “Nothing,” he said.

  For some minutes she tapped her foot. “I fear we must assume we will not find it here. Either it is lost or someone has it in his possession and is not telling us. I cannot imagine that, though.”

  Lord William slowly nodded. “I concur. Perhaps one of the servants or a public visitor came across it and thought someone had lost it.”

  “Yes.” She brightened at this very reasonable possibility. “Like as not, it’s been returned to one of the staff as a found item.” This query was put to a nearby groundsman who, having replied in the negative, was dispatched to inquire of the household.

  “Have no fear, George. He’ll return with your apple, I’m sure of it.”

  Admittedly, her invented games sometimes went awry, but none as badly as this. The participants had vied for treasure, and someone deserved the prize. She did not want anyone to be disappointed. “Suppose the apple is not at the house? It might be lost forever.”

  “Let’s choose an alternate means for determining the winner.” He laughed. “Whoever devised the cleverest plan for finding treasure via hunting dog?”

  “And award what prize?” She went through a mental inventory of her possessions, but there was nothing she could substitute.

  “A coin?” William patted his pockets. “I’m sure I’ve a penny or two.”

  “A penny. At least my apple was gold.”

  He took his money purse from his pocket and shook a handful of coins onto his palm. “Three shillings, sixpence.” George watched him look for more. “I was sure I had a guinea. I’ve been saving it. That’s a shiny bit of something to award.”

  “Lord William, you are an inspiration!”

  He put away his purse, astonished. “I am?”

  “You brilliant man. We’ll put a shilling in a box and tie it with red ribbon to present as a medal. I’ll write a commendation to go with it. We shall call it the Dukeries Commemorative Shilling.”

  After a moment considering the idea, he nodded. “With some sealing wax to make it official.”

  “Oh, yes. I like that idea.” She grinned, pleased beyond measure at this solution. One could do a great deal with this. “Do you suppose your brother would allow us to use his seal?”

  “It’s difficult to say with him. I’ve a seal. We’ll use mine.”

  “Now.” She tapped her chin, cured of her previous despair. “How are we to determine the winner? Do we know if any of the searchers came here? Besides you, I mean. We shall have to interview the others and select a winner from among those who came here. Or near here.”

  Lord William stood straight. “I had the best, cleverest plan, George. Revers didn’t think of anything half as clever. I’d have won if the prize hadn’t gone missing.”

  “That may be true, but, Lord William.” She gave him a stern look, but the poor man looked positively downcast. “You cannot be the winner when you are assisting me in choosing another prize. That is a clear conflict.”

  “As well choose someone at random.” He stared in the direction of the house. “As long as it’s not Revers.”

  “I’ll be sure everyone understands your brilliant thinking saved the treasure hunt. Don’t sulk.” She patted his chest. “You saved us from disaster. You are a hero, and you know how ladies adore a hero.”

  He brightened and brought his attention back to her. “They do, don’t they?”

  “Indeed, Lord William. Indeed.” She laughed, for doubtless he was imagining the ladies about to be impressed by him. Teversault at present had a surfeit of pretty young ladies in attendance so this could only be an advantage for a man like him.

  “Do you adore a hero?” His blue eyes stayed on her face.

  “I am a lady. Of course I do.” She took a step back, for her neck was getting a crick from staring up at him, but he closed the distance between them. She’d have backed up again, but the orange tree behind her prevented that. “Perhaps our treasure hunt and the Dukeries Commemorative Shilling will become another tradition.”

  “Perhaps it will.” After the oddest pause, Lord William bent down, for what purpose she could not imagine. An advance was not among the possibilities she considered, but in point of fact, he pressed his mouth to hers, and not in brotherly affection.

  It wasn’t that he didn’t kiss well, she thought he did, but she had no visceral reaction other than alarm and astonishment, and she knew well that a kiss from the right man was profoundly visceral. She leaned back, one hand lifted. “Lord William, I—”

  He gave her a sideways look, not the least abashed. In fact, he looked cheerful. “I like you, George. A great deal.”

  “And I you,” she said. “You are my friend. My brother’s good friend.” A man who’d been kind and who had never, as most handsome men did not, paid that sort of attention to her. His being a hero seemed to have gone to his head.

  “Hugh wrote that I ought to marry you.” He beamed at her. “What do you say?”

  “Marry?” She edged away from him. He couldn’t be serious about this. There was nothing of the impassioned lover about Lord William. He looked and sounded as if he were proposing they take a stroll about the grounds. A servant walked past the windows, but it wasn’t the groundsman they’d sent to the house. The man kept walking and was soon out of sight. “Hugh put that notion into your head?”

  “He’s never given me bad advice before.”

  “I fear he has this time.”

  “We get on, you and I. You’re pretty, and once I looked at you—I do like your figure.” He held out his hands, forming a circle with them. A space, she realized, he meant to represent her waist. “I can overlook that you’re so tiny compared to me.”

  She bit back a laugh because he was not serious. Lord William never was. He was correct, though. They did get on well. If she were to remarry she could do far worse than the brother of a duke. What a pity she did not want to marry him. “That’s good of you to say.”

  He studied her for a while, as serious as she’d ever seen him. This she found concerning, that he should be so serious. “You didn’t feel anything when I kissed you.”

  She shook her head.

  “I took you unawares.” He put his hands in his pockets and settled his weight on one hip. “That must be why. I don’t normally kiss a woman without making her faint from passion.”

  She laughed, as he’d meant her to. Her amusement did not change the fact that she did not wish to marry him. There was Kitty to consider as well since she suspected her sister was too fond of him by far.

  “I wouldn’t mind a wife I admire and who makes me laugh.” He moved closer again. Oh dear. “I’ve been thinking about it for days. Ever since Hugh wrote me.”

  She licked her lower lip. “I don’t want to be married again. I don’t think.”

  “I don’t want to be Edward to you. No one could be that.” He pressed her shoulder, a warm and friendly gesture. “Hugh wants to know you’re taken care of, and I would like very much if his mind were easy on that account.”

  “I wish he hadn’t put such thoughts in your head.” Blast her interfering brother.

  “Why? When I read his letter I thought, why wouldn’t I be happy married to George? She’s jolly and amusing, and I like spending time with her. You.”

  She stared at the tips of her slippers, then raised her chin. He was handsome. Yes. But there was no spark between them. Lord William was not the Besett brother who tied her heart and stomach into knots. “You didn’t feel anything either.”

  He gave a deep sigh. “I wasn’t sure I was going to kiss you at all, but I saw you looking at me, and I thought, why not?”

  “It was a pleasant kiss,” she said. His face fell. The last thing she wanted was to hurt him. “There’s nothing wrong with pleasant kisses.”

  “George, kisses ought to be more than pleasant.” He drew himself up with a determined look. “By Jove, I’ll not have you think I don’t know how to kiss a woman!”

  He was handsome and splendid, and they had so mu
ch in common. They loved being active and outdoors. They were mad about horses and dogs. She took his hand and pressed it between hers. “I don’t think that at all. I’m sure you kiss wonderfully when your heart’s in it.”

  He stared at her, and she recognized that look. It was the look that said he expected to win at everything, from boat races to kissing. Good Lord. An offer of marriage was not a contest to be won. “We ought to try again, don’t you think? The kissing.”

  She didn’t, actually. Then again, what if he was right? What if they never found out they suited because they’d given up? As he’d pointed out, he’d taken her by surprise. It didn’t make sense to feel so little when a handsome man kissed her. “Very well.”

  He slipped an arm around her waist, and she put her hands on his shoulders. She did not doubt he was an energetic lover. How could he not be? She looked into his blue eyes. To kiss him required that she rise up on her toes. She imagined doing so, but her limbs refused to cooperate. How odd. How odd that she was relieved.

  He lowered his head, and she closed her eyes in preparation. He didn’t kiss her, so she opened her eyes just as he closed the distance, and it was just so very awkward. His mouth touched hers, gently, and for half a second, she thought she felt something. The sensation fizzled out.

  He did kiss well. He did. She knew he did. She enjoyed his kiss in a detached sort of way. She understood passion. She had felt it with Edward, and just now passion was nowhere on the horizon.

  He drew back. “Well, George?”

  “I—”

  “That was better, don’t you think?” He waited a beat then ran a hand through his thick, golden hair, but he wasn’t smiling. He looked perturbed. Distressed.

  “Oh, yes. Very much so.”