Summer House Party

by Regina Scott

  She had begged charity of a fellow member of the upper classes? That was an exercise in humility most ladies of her station would never need endure.

  “Yet this”—he indicated the Warricks—“feels different, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes. Our receiving the basket and mason did not take a basket and mason away from someone else.”

  She hit upon exactly what he’d been trying to put into words. His distaste for the Paupers’ House Party went beyond simply disliking the humiliation of it all. The Warricks were turning people who might otherwise be empathetic toward one another into competitors. They were taking away hoped-for futures and would-be friendships.

  They were using people’s desperation as a source of entertainment. He couldn’t change what the Warricks had set in motion, but he vowed not to contribute to the humiliation of the other guests. And though he’d only known her a matter of minutes, he felt particularly determined to keep that promise where Agatha Holmwood was concerned.

  Chapter Four

  There was, indeed, no rest for the weary. At breakfast the next morning—morning, of course, falling somewhere between ten and eleven o’clock—the guests were told to report to the back garden for a picnic at noon. Agatha sighed once before finishing her bowl of porridge. She had intended to take advantage of the rare opportunity to partake in richer foods than she enjoyed at home, but Mrs. Warrick had chosen for herself a traditional breakfast of eggs, mushrooms, sausages, and liver pudding, so the large crowd at the morning meal had predictably made the same choice. Porridge, however boring and commonplace, had been a faster option.

  Connoisseurs would have scoffed, but Agatha had always preferred efficiency in her meals. That likely came as a result of being the one who prepared those meals.

  Father ran her to ground just as the large floor clock in the front entryway chimed the hour. “Agatha. What in heaven’s name are you doing in here? You are going to be late to the picnic.”

  “Is there a picnic today?”

  “Surely you—” Father narrowed his gaze. “You knew there was a picnic.”

  She smiled and nodded. “I did. I was about to step outside when you arrived.”

  “About to? It is noon. Everyone is already gathered in the garden.”

  “Already?” She pulled her eyes wide. “What are we doing in here? We should hurry.”

  For the briefest of moments, Father looked as though he meant to point out that he’d made the same insistent suggestion first. But in the end, he opted to simply take her arm in his and move swiftly to the terrace doors.

  “You simply must find an opportunity to speak with Mrs. Warrick,” he said as he moved at an impressive clip toward the garden. “Be personable and sweet. Inquire after her health.”

  Agatha nodded. “I will make certain to express my concern that she looks so pale and sickly.”

  Absolute horror seized Father’s features. “Good heavens, Agatha. Do not say that. Please.”

  “But you just said—”

  “Could you not say something more along the lines of ‘How has your day been?’ or ‘What a pleasure to see you again’?”

  She made a show of pondering the suggestion.

  “Oh, Agatha.” He sighed. “Why is it you sometimes are the most sensible girl in all the world and at other times seem entirely witless?”

  She really ought not to tease him as she did. “I will endeavor to be the sensible version of myself when conversing with Mrs. Warrick.”

  “Can you be?” He truly seemed to doubt it.

  “Mr. Downy can assure you of the intelligence of my conversation. We spent most of last evening in a very sensible discussion.” She couldn’t resist another quip. “Why, I hadn’t even a moment in which to offer Mrs. Warrick my food-cutting skills.”

  “Which Mr. Downy?”

  She hadn’t realized there was more than one. “Mr. Edward Downy.”

  “The eldest,” Father said to himself, his eyes darting over the crowd. “Ah. Is that he, standing just to the side of the gazebo?”

  She didn’t bother to hide her smile upon spying Mr. Downy there. His company had been thoroughly enjoyable the evening before, and she had secretly hoped to see him again today. “That is he.”

  Father tugged her in that direction. “Perhaps he would be willing to keep you company again while I converse with the Warricks.”

  This was an unforeseen boon. She might be granted more of Mr. Downy’s time simply because her attempts to avoid the expected flattering of her hostess made her father prefer leaving her in a gentleman’s company to sitting her beside the ladies.

  “Mr. Downy.” Father didn’t pause long enough to even offer a bow of greeting. “Would you be so good as to keep my daughter company during the picnic?”

  Mr. Downy stood in obvious surprised confusion. He didn’t manage a single word, a single sputter, before Father thanked him and rushed off toward the horde surrounding the Warricks.

  If only sinking into the ground were an option. “I suppose I should be grateful.” She masked her embarrassment with an overly cheerful tone. “Most troublesome puppies are tied in bags and tossed into rivers, rather than handed over to the nearest gentleman.”

  “Are you a troublesome puppy?” Humor twinkled in the back of his blue eyes.

  “Well, I did just heavily imply that only your intervention last night prevented me from saying embarrassing things to Mrs. Warrick, which is likely why my father so eagerly handed me over just now.” She didn’t know whether to apologize or laugh. “I suggested I might ask her this afternoon why it is she looks so pale and sickly.”

  He laughed warmly. “Troublesome, perhaps, but effective.”

  “I notice you’ve managed to neatly avoid the necessity of fawning over our hosts.”

  He nodded. “One of the perks of being a gentleman who has reached his majority. I have nearly complete sovereignty over my decisions.”

  She made a noise of pondering. “What would that be like, I wonder? A woman, no matter how old, never has anything approaching sovereignty over her own life.”

  “I wish that weren’t so true.” His response was a sincere one. Everything in his mannerisms, in his tone, told her he did regret the lot women were given in the world. “My sister lived so much of her life defeated by her lack of choices. I didn’t realize it until recently.”

  “Is she still feeling defeated?”

  “I am happy to say that she is not. She found the courage to claim full ownership of the choices she did have and, in so doing, seized her own happiness.” The fondness in his tone told Agatha all she needed to know about his relationship with his sister. She liked him all the more for it.

  Agatha eyed the spread of food. “Do you suppose many of the guests are at all hungry yet? Most of us ate our breakfast not an hour ago.”

  “I predict that if the Warricks so much as mention the existence of food nearby, the guests will happily eat themselves ill.” That was truer than it should have been.

  The crowd parted quite without warning, and Mr. Warrick emerged. He crossed toward the spot where Agatha and Mr. Downy stood. For the briefest of moments, she thought he meant to come speak with them. Mr. Downy’s sudden reticence told her he had the same suspicion.

  But Mr. Warrick ascended the stairs of the gazebo instead and stood on its floor, placing himself a bit higher than his guests. After a quick clearing of his throat, he addressed them all.

  “Thank you all for attending this picnic. As you, I am sure, have noticed, a variety of lawn games have been set up for your enjoyment. We have always”—he slowed on the word always, giving it both a hint of emphasis and warning—“enjoyed lawn games here at the Warrick estate.”

  The response was immediate. The guests scrambled toward the various games, eager to prove that they, too, enjoyed such diversions. The predictability of their reaction might have been entertaining if it hadn’t come as the direct result of desperation. They weren’t bowing to the Warricks’ every whim out of
a vain desire to be favored or fashionable. Entire futures depended upon those whims.

  “This is to be the first challenge, it seems,” Mr. Downy said. “An afternoon of not-so-friendly lawn competitions.”

  “I only hope they have not included lawn darts in their assortment. That is a game best undertaken by those who are not attempting to eliminate one another.”

  “Indeed.”

  A gentleman near Mr. Downy’s age rushed past, but slowed long enough to call over, “Best move faster than that, old man. You’ll be out of an inheritance by dinnertime.”

  “That taunting came courtesy of my old school chum,” Mr. Downy explained. “He means to throw himself wholeheartedly into this competition.”

  Agatha eyed the rush of eager participants. “He does not appear to be the only one.”

  Another young gentleman hurried over to them, an eager-eyed young lady following closely beside him.

  “Edward, here you are.” The gentleman bore a striking resemblance to Mr. Downy. Too striking to be a coincidence. This, Agatha would guess, was the other Mr. Downy her father had vaguely referenced. “We need two more for quoits.”

  “In the time you are taking to ask me to join you, someone else has likely claimed it,” Mr. Downy said.

  But the new arrival shook his head. “We absconded with the equipment.”

  His companion held out her hands, revealing several rope loops and a long, pointed stick.

  Agatha pretended to be shocked. “Good heavens. We are surrounded by thieves.”

  The newly arrived Mr. Downy—if she didn’t miss her guess—wasn’t the least deterred by her jest. “Desperate times, miss.”

  “At least let me know what name I ought to give the squire when he arrives to collect the criminals.”

  He turned to Mr. Downy. “I like her.”

  “She is Miss Agatha Holmwood,” Mr. Downy said. “Miss Holmwood, this scamp is my brother, Mr. Thomas Downy.”

  Mr. Thomas motioned to his partner in crime. “Henrietta Sumner.” Apparently, they wouldn’t be bothering with the formalities. “Will you join us for quoits? Henrietta heard Mrs. Warrick say that quoits is a particular favorite of hers.”

  “You know how I feel about this, Tom.” Mr. Downy held his brother’s gaze.

  Agatha, however, watched Henrietta. Beneath her angelic, serene exterior was something very like panic and the first threat of tears. If Agatha didn’t miss her mark, Henrietta was rather desperate to catch their hostess’s eye.

  “Mr. Downy.” Agatha shook her head when both gentlemen turned toward her. The last strands of formality would have to be abandoned altogether. “Edward,” she clarified. “We may not care to play the Warricks’ game, but that doesn’t mean we cannot enjoy this one.”

  He looked intrigued.

  “Your brother and Miss Sumner risked life and limb to pillage the quoits set. The least we can do is round out their numbers so they can enjoy the spoils of their piracy.”

  Edward’s subtle smile grew to a grin.

  “I like her,” Tom repeated. “Come on, then.” While he eagerly began his departure without waiting on his brother, Tom made absolutely certain Henrietta was with him.

  “How long have they been courting?” Agatha asked as they followed Tom and Henrietta’s path.

  “They met yesterday.” Edward slowly, almost painstakingly, raised an eyebrow. “Are you scandalized?” A single corner of his mouth twitched upward.

  “I am not certain I can spend any further time with you, Edward Downy. Your family seems to be a bad influence.”

  He leaned a bit closer and said, his voice a little lowered, “Next thing you know, I will be convincing you to tell our hostess she looks poorly and then offer to stir her tea.”

  “When I say things like that, my family looks at me as if I’m entirely mad. I cannot tell you how nice it is to meet someone who recognizes that I’m not only not serious about these things, but that it is actually a little funny.”

  He smiled broadly and motioned her toward the spot where his brother was setting up their game of quoits.

  “Are your quoits skills equally funny?”

  She grinned. “Oh, they’re hilarious.”

  “In other words, you aren’t likely to be selected by Mrs. Warrick based on your upcoming performance.”

  She shrugged. “Unless she means to select an heir out of pity.”

  “Shh!” He looked around, an air of furtive worry on his face. “If anyone overhears, this house party will become an unending exercise in competitive sympathy.”

  “I’d much rather engage in competitive ring tossing.” They had reached Tom and Henrietta. “Who goes first?”

  Though Tom and Henrietta were clearly quite anxious to make a good showing, the game proceeded with a great deal of laughter and happy jesting. Edward was as lighthearted as she’d come to expect, enjoying the game without the least worry what their hosts or the other guests might think. Her dry humor was met, not with confusion and scolds, but with smiles and chuckles and humor of his own.

  For the first time in memory, she didn’t feel quite so alone and misunderstood. She’d never truly been unhappy, but in his company she was something more than that. She felt more herself than she had in years, perhaps ever.

  Henrietta tossed her rope ring, and it slipped perfectly onto the stake.

  “Excellent,” Tom declared. “I do believe you are going to win this round handily.”

  Henrietta beamed at him. “The game does seem to be turning in my favor.”

  His gaze was every bit as besotted as hers. These two might not have known one another long, but their feelings were unmistakable.

  “It was, indeed, a well-executed toss.” Mrs. Warrick arrived on the scene. “You have a knack for quoits, Miss Sumner.”

  Henrietta colored up on the instant, and her tongue immediately tied itself in knots. She managed little beyond a nod and an incoherent muttering of what sounded vaguely like thankful agreement.

  Tom came to the rescue. “She has won most of the rounds.”

  Mrs. Warrick looked impressed. If she really did mean to choose a successor based on that person’s ability to play a child’s lawn game, then this house party was even more of a farce than Agatha had believed.

  “What of the Downy brothers?” their hostess asked. “Have you two made a good showing for yourselves?”

  Edward answered on behalf of both of them. “Tom has won the few rounds Miss Sumner has not. I, on the other hand, have shown myself to be every bit as inept at this particular game as ever I was.”

  Mrs. Warrick turned her gaze on Agatha. She looked her up and down, her gaze resting on Agatha’s head. “I will assume based on your rope ring’s current location—on the top of your head—that this is not a game you are particularly skilled at, either.”

  “Oh, but I am,” Agatha insisted. “I found my aim is not particularly good when I am attempting to toss the ring onto that stake over there, but I am quite adept at getting the ring onto my own head. I am remarkably skilled at my version of quoits. I successfully ring my target every time.”

  Mrs. Warrick’s white brows pulled in even as her wrinkled lips turned downward. “You are an odd sort of young lady, Miss Holmwood.”

  “Thank you very much,” she answered with a bright smile.

  Mrs. Warrick eyed her with the same confused expression Agatha’s father so often wore. Edward, on the other hand, was clearly holding back a grin.

  Their hostess managed to blink off her bewilderment and addressed Henrietta once more. “I will not further interrupt your game. Once again, well done. It is a joy to see another lady on this estate do well at this game. It has been too many years.”

  With that, she flounced away, leaving behind a wide-eyed Henrietta, a hopeful Tom, a clearly amused Edward, and a silently annoyed Agatha.

  “Do you think she meant that?” Henrietta quietly asked. “Was she truly impressed do you suppose?”

  “I believe so,”
Tom eagerly answered. “She will remember you, I am certain of that.”

  Henrietta took a shaky breath. “I shouldn’t allow myself to hope this much, but being chosen would be an answer to prayers.” She looked at each of them in turn, embarrassment heating her cheeks. “My father is not very good at managing his money or estate. We’ve been forced to greatly retrench these past years. We are living in the dower house on our family estate because we need the rent that comes from letting the main house. There is no money for dowries or trips to Bath, let alone London. This is the only Social event I have ever or likely will ever be invited to, and if something doesn’t improve our situation—something like this bequest—things will only grow worse. I don’t know what else to do.”

  Emotion broke the poor young lady’s words. Tom took her hands in his. “You are doing the best you can,” he insisted. “That is all you can expect of yourself.”

  Henrietta nodded, even as a lone tear escaped the corner of her eye. Tom offered her a handkerchief.

  Agatha met Edward’s eye. In his look of commiseration, she saw the same sad frustration she felt. Everyone at this party needed what the Warricks were so callously dangling in front of them.

  This game their hosts were playing with everyone’s futures was truly cruel.

  Chapter Five

  Edward needed to stop eavesdropping on Agatha’s conversations with her father, but fate seemed determined to continually place him in that uncomfortable position. He’d wandered toward the back of the house the next afternoon with every intention of taking a turn about the back gardens, only to find himself just outside a small parlor where Mr. Holmwood was pointedly lecturing his daughter.

  “I realize you are not necessarily clever,” her father said, “but I do not for a moment believe you are this thick-headed.”

  Edward kept himself from charging in and defending her against such unfounded criticism.

  “There is no explanation for your continued bungling of your encounters with the Warricks other than deliberate sabotage,” Mr. Holmwood said. “I can come to no other conclusion.”