A Heart's Treasure (29 page)

“Either,” he answered civilly, if shortly.

She chose to do as he’d done, breaking everything on her plate into bite-sized pieces. Then they both fell still. She brushed at the lap of her gown until she realized she must be giving the impression she was utterly covered in crumbs.

At last he reached for some bread, and she accepted it on her tongue, careful not to touch his fingers with it or her lip.

Occasionally their companions laughed and pointed out that the piece of baked fish Xavier had meant for Genevieve’s mouth had ended up in the goblet of wine, or they looked like Papists receiving communion, but after a short while such sport grew tiresome, for the two parties involved chose not to react or banter. Mindless of any tension—or choosing to label it as resentment of their forfeit—the companions turned to discussions on the improved weather, the likelihood Michael would bring them to Preston this day, and a somewhat heated discussion on whether Haddy’s most recently purchased pipe tobacco was too pungent for mixed company.

Eventually Genevieve’s nerves settled and her hands ceased to shake, much to her relief. She sat back, sighing and shaking her head when Xavier raised another piece of bread. “I’m replete,” she said quietly.

“I’m not,” he answered.

A little surprised he’d not seized on the chance to be done with this folly, she fed him more of the meal, careful to see her fingers were never too close to his mouth, a fact that caused her to have to pay particularly close attention to that very mouth. A well-shaped mouth, with even white teeth. A mouth she’d not long ago wished would turn into her palm and lay a kiss there.

“Wine, please,” he said. She lifted the glass, grateful to hear his voice seemed perhaps a trifle less resentful. He sipped the wine, and nodded his thanks. He looked fully at her, with that stupid, treacherous eye patch near enough she could reach out and touch it. His gaze wandered away, and came back. “This is truly absurd,” he said quietly, shaking his head and almost smiling, something of his usual grace returned.

“It is,” she agreed, allowing a small smile of her own to form.

“Did you get enough to eat? To drink? You didn’t take much.”

She could hardly say the forfeit had cost her her appetite. He was making an effort to be civil, as must she. She said, “Perhaps a little more wine?”

He lifted the glass. The level of the liquid was low, so he had to really tip the goblet for the wine to reach her lips. It tipped too far and too much came into her mouth all at once. She sputtered as he pulled the glass quickly away, a dribble of wine running down her chin.

“I’m sorry,” he said at once, reaching into his pocket for a kerchief.

As he handed the linen to her, from its fold fell one of his extra eye patches, landing on her lap. It was impossible to ignore the black fabric against her pale pink gown. Her eyes flew up and met his, and she saw the hardness return to his features as he reached to retrieve the patch.

“Wipe your chin,” he told her gruffly, coming suddenly to his feet. He mumbled an excuse to the group as he strode out into the countryside, away from her.

When he returned a quarter of an hour later, Genevieve didn’t even think to ask if she might ride beside him.

Chapter 21

And this the burthen of his song,

For ever us’d to be,

I care for nobody, not I,

If no one cares for me.

—Isaac Bickerstaffe,

Love in a Village

The next morning, there was a minor tussle over which team ought to go next, since Summer and Genevieve had switched teams, making the order uncertain.

“I don’t mind waiting a turn to fail, if Kenneth doesn’t,” Penelope said, making a couple of the others chortle at the offer that would result in no penalty on her, either way.

So the clue went to Michael and his new partner, Summer.

“Why, it was here, in Hoghton Tower, that James the First so enjoyed the loin of beef he was served for his supper, that he dubbed it ‘Sir Loin,’” Michael said, looking sharply at Kenneth to see if his answer was correct.

“In 1617,” Kenneth agreed as various faces turned to admire the fortified house, itself from the sixteenth century. “But however did you know that, Yardley? I was sure I’d confound everyone.”

“Pure luck. Your clue said the building had some significance to James the First. I remembered me nothing of that monarch other than one tale, the only one, I daresay, a young lad made to suffer in an extremely stifling class of Historical Instruction might later recall.”

“Bravo, Michael,” Summer said, surprising everyone with the praise. She must have felt the questions pointed her way, for she clarified. “We’ve now earned four tokens. I doubt we’ll be the ones to lose this treasure hunt, as no others have more than two.”

Kenneth handed Summer the token of which she spoke: a nine of clubs.

“Significance?” Michael questioned as Summer placed the card in her reticule.

Kenneth colored. “There’s none, I’m afraid.” He went on as some of the gathering grinned at his confession. “I own I couldn’t divine any symbolism from a sirloin to connect it to a playing card.”

“It matters not,” Summer assured him, “so long as it’s a valid token.”

“Quite valid. And you raise a point I ought share. Know that there are only two more tokens to be won in our little hunt.”

“What if, by some long chance, there should be a tie?” Haddy asked. “Four to four?”

“I don’t know—” Kenneth began, but was interrupted by Summer.

“A win should be decided by a Little Riddle, of course.”

He inclined his head. “That makes sense to me. After all, the purpose of this excursion was to obtain knowledge, so let knowledge be the deciding factor.”

“And speaking of Little Riddles, we haven’t had one in quite some while. Have you one for us now?” Summer asked.

Genevieve looked at her friend. Michael hadn’t stopped doting on her. He was constantly at her side, constantly complimenting her, trying to charm her. And it appeared to be working. Only a day later, Summer no longer insisted Michael call her Lady Rose. And did she now urge a Little Riddle in order she might bestow a kiss on someone particular?

What a complex creature Summer is.

Genevieve couldn’t hope to enjoy, let alone play, such deep games. No, not she, for she couldn’t even maintain a simple friendship with an old friend.

“Very well. A difficult Riddle, then, I think.” Kenneth rubbed his hands together. “You must name all the rivers in Lancashire.” At the blank stares he received, Kenneth added, “I’ll tell you there are six.”

“Well, the Mersey, of course,” Summer offered.

“And the Lune,” Michael said. He lifted his eyebrows at Summer, encouraging her to go on. She was back to seeming to ignore him, bending her head to smooth the ends of a black ribbon tied around her neck.

“The Ribble, near Preston,” Haddy said.

Kenneth stood up from the picnic linen. “Wait!” he called, half-laughing. “Who will win a kiss if everyone answers? One person needs to come up with the remaining three.”

“I may know them,” Penelope said, with a finger to her chin. “After all, Xavier has come north on occasion with Haddy for the hunt. It seems to me they also fished in every stream or river they found, and then bored me with recitations of their exploits.”

“Don’t care much about river names. I just like the fishing,” Haddy said, eyes screwed up as though he could force the names to reappear in his brain.

For his part, Xavier gave his sister a cool look, but it wasn’t edged with disappointment like the looks he gave Genevieve. She’d be surprised if he chose to answer the Riddle, for then he’d need to kiss someone—someone decidedly not her. Genevieve suppressed a sigh.

“Let me see…,” Penelope ticked off the count on her fingers as she named the rivers. “The Mersey. The Lune. The Ribble. The Calder, The…uh, the Hodder. And… And… It’s just on the tip of my tongue. Oh, it starts with a ‘W.’ Wynde…or Wyle…Wyre! It’s the Wyre.” She looked up and smiled, sure she was correct.

Kenneth nodded. Michael made a disappointed motion with his hand, and Summer looked up from under her lashes at him again, perhaps not as benignly as she imagined. Penelope laughed, pleased with herself as she also rose to her feet.

“The kiss!” Summer prompted.

“Whatever you say, my love,” Michael said at once, leaning over to reach for her hands.

“You’ve hardly earned one,” Summer scolded, rising and dancing away. “And I wasn’t speaking to you anyway. I was speaking to Penelope.”

Penelope glanced around, coloring. Curiously, for a moment she met her brother’s eye, but then she looked away at once. The slightest frown crossed Xavier’s face for a moment.

Again his sister looked at him, and then her chin rose, and she stepped to Kenneth’s side. She went up on tiptoe, her hands circling his arm to steady her thusly, and placed a kiss on his cheek, very near his mouth. Perhaps she leaned into him more than her position on tiptoe required, and perhaps her hands lingered a moment too long on his arm once her feet were again flat to the ground before she released him to take half a step back. She looked at her brother again, and her chin didn’t lower.

Even more curiously, Kenneth’s mouth tightened with…disapproval?

“Enough silliness,” Michael protested. “Where are we off to now? What is the next clue?”

Kenneth produced the requisite blue paper, handing it to Penelope. “Our turn.”

“
‘Go to the land a’west o’ the moors,

And there the prized token can be yours.

’Tween Yorkshire and the River Kent,

’Tis where my presence will next be lent,’
” she read.

“I warn you the next clue—the final one, approaching our destination—will be most obscure,” Kenneth explained. “So with this clue, I thought perhaps it would be more helpful to provide a kind of verbal map, that we may at least come to the proper town before we are really challenged.”

“I see. Let me think,” Penelope said. “For the Little Riddle I almost added in the River Kent, but then I recalled it’s truly just north of the bit of Westmorland that separates the two sections of Lancashire.”

“Her tutor was especially fond of geography,” Laura leaned over to say to Genevieve, who nodded.

“But the Kent is not so very far from here. Hmm. Yorkshire runs all along the eastern border, so that is no help. Oh, I wish I could look at a map.”

“He never said you might not,” Haddy said, standing and reaching for his pocket.

“Genevieve and I weren’t allowed to do so,” Xavier objected quietly. Haddy withdrew his hand from his pocket, and no one argued the point further.

“It could be Milnthorp, for that is very near the river, but…that bit about Yorkshire makes me think it must be more centered. Not Preston, for we’ve just come from a Preston in the last county, and I know you, Kenneth, better than to think you would wish to have a name twice. No, it must be one of the Kirkbys, so…I’ll guess the more southern of the two, Kirkby Lonsdale.”

In answer, Kenneth merely handed her a playing card: the queen of hearts. “Because Kirkby Lonsdale is a beautiful place, as is every man’s queen.”

She smiled at him, and lifted the card aloft. “My team now has three tokens,” she told Summer.

“But will all the teams miss in order to give you a chance to gain a fourth?” Summer countered.

“Perhaps.”

“Perhaps,” Summer’s voice reflected her playful doubt.

“Regardless of our chances, today will be a very pleasant day. Would you care to ride with me?” Kenneth asked Penelope.

Xavier stepped forward, gently inserting himself between the two. He took up his sister’s arm. “She’s not wearing a riding habit. Let us away to Kirkby Lonsdale,” he said as he pulled her toward the carriage.

“I wish to ride,” she said, pulling back, her tone not nearly as soft as her brother’s.

What is this all about?
Genevieve thought.
Does Xavier think Penelope and Kenneth being easier with each other is a bad turn?
Genevieve parted her lips to argue for her friend, but Xavier caught her eye and gave a quick shake of his head.

“I tell you, I wish it,” Penelope argued on her own behalf. “Genevieve rode with you without benefit of a habit.”

Genevieve said nothing, caught between the fact Xavier had caught her eye a moment ago and the fact her friend used her name to make an argument.

“Very well then,” Xavier said. “If you wish to ride,
I
shall ride with you. Manning, you have the box on the ladies’ carriage, with Moreland to ride guard. Yardley, you’ll take the baggage carriage before us, and be so good as to set the pace again. Moreland, what must it be? Forty miles from here?”

“Closer to fifty, and rough country,” Haddy said. “And the closer to evening it grows, we must be prepared for the possibility of footpads.”

“Yardley, you’ve the rifle?” Xavier said, pulling his sister to the left side of the horse and cupping hands for her. She paused a long moment, gave him a dark look, but then allowed him to hand her up to the saddle.

“I have.” Michael, standing by the coach, motioned to the box, underneath of which the rifle would be stowed. “Summer,” he called, motioning. “While the fair sun shines, come drive beside me.”

Poised to step up into the ladies’ coach, she shook her head.

“But if you drive with me you’ll not be in the dust. You’ll have fresh air, and my splendid company. Doesn’t that tempt you?” he argued, all pleasantness.

 “It does not.”

“Then I’ll not lead the way. I’ll creep behind Haddy, at his usual tortoise-like pace, and we’ll have to spend the night in some provincial little town with only rough bedclothes and middling food to serve us. The rooms will be full of smoke, for they ever have fires year-round in such places as these, regardless of their guests’ comfort. And we’ll be forced to spend our night listening to the master and mistress of the house quarreling for hours on end, their tongues and tempers loosed by the gin they’ve had in place of their suppers. We’ll—”