“Yes. Even if a punishment had somehow gone awry…or…”
Both men reconsidered, but finally Kenneth shrugged. “Well, one of the ladies will know how it happened. Penelope, if no one else.”
“I leave it to you to ask her,” Haddy said, tone heavy with an unspoken “good luck with that.” He did add, “I wonder if the ladies will speak with us at all tomorrow, for I suspect we’ve disturbed their rest this evening.” He checked his watch and clucked his tongue as he moved toward the stairs. “Make that, this morning.”
Chapter 4
Even if strength fail, boldness at least will deserve praise:
in great endeavours even to have had the will is enough.
—Propertius,
Elegies
“There are a great many trees growing very near this inn,” Genevieve said the next morning, following Summer’s lead by sitting up in bed and leaning back against the wooden headboard. “And they house a great many birds.” Her brows lowered. “Singing, chirping, twittering birds.”
“They are extraordinarily noisy.” Summer rubbed the sleep from her eyes, the morning light that streamed through the gauzy curtain at the open window gilding her long almost white plait with golden streaks.
“I have listened to them since five o’clock this morning,” Genevieve replied, pointing at the clock on the bedside table that showed the hour as a quarter past eight. “I never knew I could detest birds, but now I find I really most particularly do.” She gave a lopsided grin to show she was not deadly serious. “Of course, this was after being kept awake until two in the morning by the raucous noises from the common room.”
“You’ve been awake all that time? Oh, my dear, you’ve scarcely had a bit of sleep. I finally managed to fall asleep beneath my pillow, despite the sounds from below stairs. But did you hear the host knocking on all the other doors at six?”
“Indeed. I wanted to go to the door and tell him it was not necessary to bellow, but apparently it was. Our immediate neighbor needed to be summoned three times before she finally made her departure. I heard him tell her she’d missed any chance at a breakfast and was only five minutes away from missing the morning post coach.”
“I hope they allow a later breakfast for those traveling by private coach,” Summer said as she pushed aside the single linen sheet they’d shared against the summer night. She swung her feet over the side of the bed.
“They will. Remember, Haddy bespoke a morning meal.”
“Oh, yes.” Summer stretched, her complexion complemented by the pink ribbons of her nightrail’s bodice, its white length hugging her lean form. She sat atop the high mattress, her feet dangling above the floor. Genevieve smiled ruefully to herself, as usual aware how delicately feminine and fetching her friend was, even upon rising of a morning.
“It’s already scarcely even cool,” Summer noted with a sigh. “I fear it’ll be another terribly warm day.”
“Thank goodness Oxford is not so very far from here. With any luck it’ll not be more than a two or three hour carriage ride.”
“Do you think we’ll go on from there, or remain in Oxford for the rest of the day then?” Summer asked, her slender hands hugging her own elbows.
Genevieve shook her head reassuringly at her. “We shall stop in Oxford for our luncheon, if nothing else, and go no farther if we don’t care to, so long as there is an inn to be had. I declare it.”
“Haddy would wish to travel on, if that is Kenneth’s design. I’m convinced Haddy agreed to come just so he could have the opportunity to do some hunting up north. The sooner we get there, the better, that’s what Haddy will think.”
“Then Haddy will just have to be disappointed, will he not?” Genevieve’s smile broadened. “Leave it to me. I would have no trouble persuading Haddy to any plan we care to make. Or our Michael for that matter.”
“No,” Summer said as she stared toward the curtain that barely fluttered in the light morning breeze. “You would have no trouble with that.” She darted a quick glance Genevieve’s way, expression sober. “Michael is…he doesn’t always comport himself as I would have him do… I think he tries to overset me, at times.”
“What? Why would he?” Genevieve was honestly perplexed.
“I think I am too timid for him.” This time Summer’s gaze clung to Genevieve’s. “I’m too…unlike you.”
“Unlike me?” Genevieve cried, coming off the bed to cross around to Summer’s side. She took up the other girl’s hands to peer down at her. “What a mad thing to say. I can’t tell you how many times Michael has called me a hoyden. He’s told me to my face that I ought conduct myself more like you.”
“Oh, Michael.” Summer lifted her chin a little, gently chiding the missing fellow. “Well then, not exactly like you, I suppose,” she amended. “A man doesn’t wish his intended to be too very like his sister, of course. But I can only think he wants someone who is more bold and clever and decisive like you.”
Genevieve plopped onto the bed beside the fair-haired lady, twisting in place to be able to still hold her hands. “Oh, but surely not, Summer. My brother and father despair of me. Papa is forever bemoaning I make it difficult for men to see my appeal. He says I’m opinionated, forever pronouncing my likes and dislikes. He says since I don’t have a mother to guide me, I’ve scarcely any notion of manners. I cannot confine my table conversation to the weather or my latest frock, but must discuss the issues before the House of Lords, or the last battle our army has fought. He doesn’t say it, but I know I’m the reason he never remarried.” Her voice caught on these words, which held a little too much truth.
By and large, she’d been rather unkind to the ladies of his preference and quite shooed them all away. She saw it now that she was older. She’d denied her papa a bit of future happiness because she’d been too long lost and hurting at her mother’s passing.
What if some gentleman such as, for instance, Xavier had come to Papa and asked for Genevieve’s hand? How terrible if her wishes hadn’t been considered, if Papa had decided for her and denied her, in such an example, a connection she’d hoped for?
The thought made her uncomfortable…why had Xavier been the first man to come to mind?...and, to think, she’d been just as preemptory of her own loving parent’s possible choices.
“Pish,” Summer said at her side.
Genevieve tilted her head. “What?”
“I said ‘pish.’ Michael and Lord Galton adore you. They act exasperated with you at times, but they wouldn’t have you any other way.”
“They would,” Genevieve tried to protest.
Summer shook her head. “It’s not the point anyway, dearest Genevieve. The point is, what have I not shown Michael that he waits to see in me?”
Genevieve sat a bit stunned by this unexpected view through her friend’s eyes. “I don’t know,” she murmured, meaning the words.
Summer pulled her hands free, made a little tsking noise, and dismissed the question with a graceful little wave. “Do not fret yourself. I shall puzzle it out. I always do. And sooner than Michael thinks. He’ll see.”
The fairer girl rose and set about her toilette, sponging at the ewer, then pulling on a fresh shift from one of her valises. As Genevieve joined her, and they helped each other with the buttons and tapes of their dresses, Genevieve was left to mull over the fact Summer seemingly had more active plans to get Michael to the altar than she’d realized.
They made their way to an upstairs sitting room that Haddy had bespoke the night before, the windows already open against the growing heat of the day. The innkeeper’s wife came up behind them to announce what was available for their breakfasts. Soon they were joined by the other ladies, and belatedly the men entered as a group. Upon seeing the eight tables all laid out apart from one another, they promptly seized some of the furniture and pressed the tables edge to edge, making one long one at which they all could sit. The innkeeper’s wife, Mrs. Hummock, was startled when she returned with a rack of toast to
find them thus arranged, but only for a moment before she assured the others that their breakfasts would be forthcoming shortly. Haddy was disappointed to learn there were no kippers to be had, and mumbled something about ham having to do.
* * *
Xavier saw at once there was nothing for it. With the tables pushed together, there was only one seat left by the time he moved around the table; he must take the chair to Genevieve’s right.
This put his blind eye toward the lady—but he reminded himself not to be glad of the paltry convenient way to avoid her gaze. He pulled out the chair, also checking the impulse to make an excuse about not being hungry. After all, he’d decided just this morning that he’d not let this journey discomfort him. He could fake being in a state of utter calm and control. Hadn’t he had many opportunities in which to practice?
Take this morning. He’d pushed his eye patch up somewhat out of the way while he’d shaved, but hadn’t completely removed it. Haddy had still been in the room. Xavier had one hard and fast rule: he didn’t subject others to the sight of his injured eye, not even his best friend. He just behaved as if he always left the patch on when he shaved. Haddy, bless him, had seen the act dozens of times, and today hadn’t bothered to pay Xavier any particular mind anyway.
As he’d listened to Haddy’s mild curses at the unaccustomed task of also shaving himself, Xavier had relaxed so far as to take a moment to re-evaluate his own visage. Despite the fact he knew every inch of his puckering scar, every raised dot where a surgeon’s stitch had gone in or come out, he knew at a conscious level that his appearance disturbed others less than his instinct always made him think it did. His chin was strong, his mouth even, his nose straight. His hair was thick and dark, with a bit of wave that others tried to emulate with the use of pomade but which haloed his own head quite naturally. Even the good eye was an acceptable gray with long dark lashes complementing it. He also knew that, even with the scar and patch, he’d turned a head or two.
Well…perhaps his birth had done most of the head-turning for him; there was always a young miss on the hunt for a title or a fortune. He was Viscount Warfield, a title he’d use until he took his father’s place as the Earl of Fenworth—and there were too many eligible females wanting a chance to be a viscountess and eventually a countess. If the title wasn’t enough, he’d plenty of the ready to satisfy all but the most avaricious seeker. And certainly no one could fault his standing as a most acceptable social parti. He was welcome anywhere he’d worked to make it so. How better to hide from the truth than in a crowd? How better to learn to ignore a lady’s too-long stare than to encounter such stares often?
So he’d remembered who and what he was as he gazed at himself in the morning mirror. He was Lord Warfield the Pleasant. The partygoer. The ever-gallant, the sociable fellow…who was at heart always alone. And that was his secret, the price he paid for his ability to go forth of a morning, to dance with a lady and make conversation with her: that he was alone in his bed at night, unable to inflict anything but his daylight public persona on a woman. It was his way of facing the world despite his marred appearance, and had been so for a very long time.
And would continue to be so. Especially with Genevieve, a friend too dear, too long a part of his world, to lose through selfish yearnings.
Now he waited until the innkeeper’s wife had set a full plate in front of him and he’d nodded his thanks to the lady. Then, forcing his chin up, he turned so he could see Genevieve. She wore a pretty pale yellow dress this morning, with a variegated orange-gold ribbon at the high waist and its match in her short wavy dark hair, making her look fresh as Spring. “Good morning,” he said.
“Good morning,” she replied with a little nod. Did her gaze search his face a bit more than usual…or was he imagining it?
“I trust you rested well?”
“Indeed. And yourself?”
“It was cooler near morning,” she said.
He’d lied by saying he’d slept well; apparently neither had she, although it didn’t show. She parted her lips to say more, but Michael interrupted by calling down the table. “Tell us, Manning,” he said to Kenneth, one arm hooked over the back of his chair in one of his nonchalant poses. “What does the day hold for us? What manner of wonders have you prepared for our amusement today?”
“You shan’t know the answer to the clue set forth yesterday until we’ve obtained Oxford, but I do have another small surprise for the day.”
“Do tell,” Laura instructed her brother as she spread marmalade on her toast.
He reached into his coat pocket and drew out a slip of folded white paper. “I believe I shall call them Little Riddles. Small tests as to my companions’ knowledge of their own fair land, which—I say with quite some confidence—I expect to be most limited.”
There were some good-natured noises of false offense.
“You mean those of us who get our noses out of a book now and again,” Haddy challenged. “But you are mistaken, my dear bookworm. Just because I prefer hunting to studying doesn’t mean I don’t know a thing or two.”
Laura looked up from her toast. “That’s as may be, but what point is there to these Little Riddles anyway?”
“The joy of knowledge is not enough?” her brother replied archly.
A series of boos forced a grin from him. He waved down their protests, crying, “Very well, very well. Some sort of forfeit is to be levied for wrong answers?”
Laura’s eyes narrowed. “Tokens must be returned?”
“No, tokens are only for the treasure hunt.” Others shook their heads along with Kenneth.
“A kiss,” Summer said, somehow her soft voice managing to override everyone else’s, as usual. They all turned to her as she breathlessly rushed on. “A wrong answer means one must deliver a kiss to one’s partner.”
“No. I’m not kissing my sister,” Michael declared flatly.
“Then whichever lady you choose,” Summer went on, ducking her head under the weight of their collective stares. “And not for a wrong answer. Whoever gets the answer correct, he or she gets to choose whom to bestow their kiss upon.” Her eyes flickered to Michael, then returned demurely to her lap.
The partners Haddy and Laura eyed each other doubtfully.
Xavier wasn’t aware his hand had knotted into a fist atop the table until he saw Genevieve stare down at it.
She started to speak, “I don’t think—”
“Come now, one would think we’re not all friends,” Penelope spoke louder.
Xavier forced his hand to relax.
“I’ve had a kiss from each of you at every Wassail,” Penelope went on, “and at each New Year’s Eve since I can recall. What makes our little adventure so very different from those occasions? I find it a perfectly appropriate gesture, the Kiss Triumphant for the Conquering Pair.” She glanced about, and nodded her head firmly. “There, no-one speaks against me. It’s decided. Kenneth, go on. Let us hear this first Little Riddle.”
Kenneth handed the folded white paper to Laura, who was on his right. “It’s just a little thing. I’ve compiled a question or two regarding each county through which we travel, one for the breakfast meal, and perhaps another at luncheon. Merely to help us enjoy our travels. There is no time limit. They are not meant to be especially difficult. In truth, I expect one of these fellows to know this first one right away.”
Laura unfolded the paper. “‘What is the motto of Oxfordshire?’” she read.
“The motto?” Haddy echoed, a disbelieving look on his face. “What manner of question is that? Who knows mottos and things like that?”
“Not huntsmen obviously.” Michael laughed. He gestured toward Xavier. “Come along, Warfield. Seems to me I’ve heard you mumble a motto or two in your time. What do you think?”
Xavier sat very still until he shook his head once, denying he knew.
There was a long silence, into which Genevieve finally chose to leap. “It’s surely something Latin.” When her comment brou
ght forth no response from anyone, she looked to Xavier. “You know your Latin. Surely you can venture a guess, Xavier?”
He knew he was looking oddly stubborn…but a kiss…?
Genevieve heaved a sigh as she picked up her knife and fork anew, and sliced her butter-fried eggs into pieces. “It seems we don’t know,” she said to Kenneth. “Perhaps you have another question?”
Kenneth parted his lips to reply, but Xavier interrupted.
“No,” he said, his voice a little thick. Genevieve’s silverware ceased its slicing. “It’s ‘Sapere Aude,’” he supplied. “It means ‘Dare to be Wise.’” The perfect advice for me, he thought. It was, after all, a game. Only a game, no matter that it involved a kiss. What was a kiss anyway? And he could peck the cheek of his own sister, or Laura, or even Summer if he chose—he needn’t make Genevieve his choice.
Though he would, he determined with a stiff jaw, to prove to himself that he knew how to play silly games and yet keep his aplomb.
“You’re exactly right, Xavier,” Kenneth commended him, then included the entire group. “You see? They’re but a simple riddle or two a day, to keep our ennui at bay,” he chanted, smiling at his own poetic wit.
“The kiss,” Summer prompted Xavier, even though she blushed at her forwardness. “You must claim your reward.”
“Ah, yes,” Xavier heard himself mumble. He dare not think. He leaned forward, pressing his mouth quickly against the smoothness of Genevieve’s cheek.
Applause filled the room, making the innkeeper, who’d just arrived with a new rack of toast, look about with a puzzled air. Xavier didn’t bother to enlighten the man, and sank back into his chair, flooded with relief that it was done.
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