A Heart's Treasure (3 page)

Despite some demurring, the four ladies’ names were written on bits of paper, folded, and slipped into a vase suddenly pressed into service. Kenneth shook the vase to toss the papers about. “We shall do this alphabetically, I think,” he declared.

“Last again.” Xavier gave a mock sigh.

Haddy was first to draw, and it was seen his partner was to be Laura, Kenneth’s sister. The latter eyed Haddy as if to measure if he were worthy of her partnership. No outcome was pronounced, unless one counted that she made no protest.

Kenneth stared for a long moment down at the paper he’d then drawn. His ears turned red again, but then he shook himself, and smiled politely. He held the paper aloft, as though to prove what he’d drawn. “My partner is to be Penelope.”

It was her turn to redden, two bright spots on her cheeks, but after a long moment wherein she appeared calm if unsmiling, she nodded.

Laura frowned a little, glancing between the newly named partners, perhaps sensing that for some reason the combination was not a comfortable one. Xavier wanted to slap a hand to his forehead; anyone but Kenneth ought to have drawn Penelope’s name. He should have thought about that. Ought he now volunteer to take her on in Kenneth’s stead? Or would that make the moment even more awkward?

Before Xavier could decide, the vase was thrust his way by Kenneth. Xavier’s hand rose, paused as he glanced to Penelope, but then it dipped into the vase, the moment to declare a partner switch lost under the very steady, very stoic stare she aimed his way. For a certainty, it would be just that more painful for Penelope if the strain between her and Kenneth was allowed to be known by the larger group. The two of them had kept their division well hidden these four months past.

Afraid he reddened as well—knowing part of his sister’s silence was for his sake, since he would be perhaps the worst wounded if their small, safe circle fell apart—Xavier fought back a grimace, and pulled forth the absent Summer’s name.

Michael, as soon as Xavier read his partner’s name aloud, thrust his hand into the vase as well. He unfolded the last piece of paper, confirming what he’d clearly already figured:  “Genevieve” was written across it.

“For pity’s sake. The whole idea was not to have one’s sister as a partner,” he protested.

“You didn’t state any such rule prior to the drawing,” Haddy pointed out. “You merely implied it.”

“No, but seriously.” Michael looked to his sister and now hunt partner, but Genevieve only shrugged at him, perhaps amused to see him thwarted for once. He scowled at her, then spun back to his fellows. “I ought to be allowed to name an alternate. Your older sister perhaps, Moreland? Her husband wouldn’t mind a few weeks’ absence, I suppose? Make the heart grow fonder and—?”

“She’s increasing,” was Haddy’s dampening reply.

Michael gave an exasperated sound.

 “No, good sir,” Kenneth declared. “No more fussing. The selections stand.”

Manning,
Xavier thought, exasperated,
your pronouncement just made it that much harder for you and me to trade partners.

As Michael persisted in grumbling, the men pulled on their jackets and sent for their hats and canes, and the sisters their shawls and bonnets.

“So how does all this foolishness start?” Haddy asked, pulling a face as he drew his coat over his sweat-damp shirt.

“I tell you our first location, and once we arrive there, you will be given a further clue or two to figure out where we go next.”

“And our first location is…?”

“We only go so far as Wycombe Marsh. Perhaps you know the place, it used to be known as Haveringdon?”

“I know it.
Only,
you say? That’s some thirty miles from here, Manning. I’ll tell you now that Summer’s not up to long, frantic days of travel.”

“No, of course not. Nor should we care to discomfort any of the ladies.” Kenneth considered, his hand dashing through his hair. “But surely thirty’s not so far, with fresh horses? But, yes, I may have to change a plan or two… But mostly my hunt will serve as set, I think.” He nodded, first to himself, then to Haddy. “The ladies ought not be too inconvenienced.”

“It’s not too late to make off without ’em…?” Haddy leaned in to not-quite-whisper hopefully.

“No, no,” the other man quietly said at once. He must have felt Xavier’s gaze on him, but he didn’t look back, instead clearing his throat and adding, “At this point, it would be churlish to disappoint them.”

“Suppose so,” Haddy agreed reluctantly.

“Presuming on Summer’s agreement and others’ parental approval,” Kenneth raised his voice so all could hear, “is tomorrow at ten too soon to begin, ladies? Gentlemen?”

Laura looked alarmed at the haste, but when the two younger ladies didn’t object, she nodded her assent as well. She snatched up her parasol, as if she needed to be home and begin packing at once.

“Very good. I shall leave my home at ten, with two coaches, one for the ladies and one for our portmanteaux, and take all of us up.” He didn’t need to say the men must crowd in among the bags and boxes, or else ride their own horse; no doubt they’d all opt for the latter. Xavier wasn’t sure whether to hope the weather held or not, for baking under the sun would prove as unpleasant as would being mounted in rain; the only thing more disagreeable might be riding inside a coach stuffed full with baggage. However, he was loath to suggest Kenneth must supply a third vehicle, since his friend might well be thin of pocket to pay for such a hire.

“Well then, I must away,” the same said, “if I’m to send my man before us, to set our clues.”

“Of course. We should hate to overtake him before he can complete his tasks.” Spontaneously, and quite unsure if Penelope would prefer it or not, Xavier took a chance and leaned forward to whisper quickly to Kenneth, “I know it might be awkward, but would you care to trade partners with me—?”

“No, no, it’s quite all right,” Kenneth said, shaking his head and pressing his lips together, his voice pitched quite low. He looked up from under lashes, finally letting Xavier see his eyes, which were touched with melancholy. “It will be a kind of mending time, do you see?” he murmured with a chagrined twist of the mouth. “She and… We need to get past any lingering awkwardness, you understand?”

“Quite,” Xavier said, nodding, even as he hoped it might prove so.

Give the man his due, though, for Kenneth had taken Papa’s rejection with a determined grace and had refused to break up the long-standing circle of eight by bemoaning his loss of a bride. Not many men could have borne rejection with such poise. With the possible exception of Laura—herself sensitive to dashed hopes because her soon-to-declare swain, Lieutenant Lark, had been lost to a Frenchman’s bullet two years past and she’d no new offers since that tragedy—the others had missed that a connection so close at hand had been asked for and refused.

Besides himself, who would come out the worse should the Penelope-Kenneth truce all fall to messy pieces on the road? For a certainty, Kenneth’s connection had been a true one: he yet pined, if one but bothered to see the longing gazes he sometimes couldn’t help but throw Nellie’s way.

But there was naught the poor man could do to alter the refusal; Xavier and Penelope’s papa had been clear enough on the matter. Kenneth—be damned to riches that’d one day he his—wasn’t good enough for an earl’s daughter.

And for the lady herself? What had been her feelings on the matter? Xavier was less sure in that quarter. In many ways, Penelope seemed her usual self—but perhaps to his shame, Xavier couldn’t say just how deeply her own feelings toward Kenneth had run. Was she hiding lingering pain? Was she heartbroken? But surely heartbroken females wept and pouted and wrote long poems about love lost? They didn’t smile, and laugh, and attend dances, and mostly go about as if all was at it had been—did they?

Had Xavier seen anything in her that spoke of affection beyond that of a friend? Any particular preference for Kenneth’s company, months ago? Perhaps. But then again, perhaps not. It disturbed Xavier that he couldn’t say for sure, just as it bothered him that sometimes he found her staring out a window, or wandering the halls aimlessly, or denying tears he thought she’d just quickly brushed away.

And…when her name had been drawn by her one-time suitor, she’d blushed. Only blushed. She’d not looked pleased, or protested, or stammered, or demanded a redraw.

There had been her stoic stare, too. Had it meant for Xavier to remain clear of her affairs? Or had he missed her point entirely and failed to provide a rescue?

Yet… Nellie could teach steel how not to bend if she was of a mind to be obstinate. She certainly wouldn’t have wanted any action on his part to call attention to a proposal that was void and behind them. Not in front of this circle of friends, particularly. It didn’t speak well of Xavier that he vacillated between relief she and Kenneth had chosen silence, and the occasional nagging notion that it had all ended too neatly. She’d only spoken of the proposal to him once, and had remained determinedly mute on the subject thereafter. He’d been too relieved that the ring of eight friends had survived, to push her to say more on the matter.

I am a coward.

It was the thing he liked least about himself, this admittedly ridiculous sensitivity over his lost eye, the long scar, the perfectly understandable curiosity others evinced over the imperfection he could little hide from the world. He’d carried the mark and the burden for years, and even learned to seem sanguine about it most of the time—but the scar went much deeper than the flesh. Xavier was reminded almost daily by some stranger’s stare that he was maimed. The outer wound was long healed into a scar, the inner one never less than raw.
Not just a coward, but a fool.

He knew all might have been different had he a less hungry heart. But the truth was, he longed for love.
There, I’ve thought it,
he said to himself, not enjoying the sensation he seldom let rise to a wholly conscious level. After all, there was no need to linger on it, for every fiber of his being knew what he desired.

He had the love of his parents and his sister, of his friends, oh yes. These were grand and wonderful gifts...but each selfish corner of his person wanted more: the love of a woman. A love of his own. A companion. A helpmeet. A darling whom he adored and who wanted him, as he was, in return.

However, the few females he’s let get close had proved to be no darlings. Their actions and their words had slid past any confidence he’d built and wickedly laid open anew his damaged pride.

For he knew it was, after all, a matter of pride. He’d the prospects and the money to assure him of a hundred women’s smiling-to-his-torn-face tolerance. It couldn’t be less than stupid pride that kept him from seeking, let alone accepting, anyone who might have a whiff of charity about them in deigning to accept him. Had he been older with either of his failed romantic attempts, he might have withstood the ladies’ repugnance and pity better than he’d done…or perhaps that was a lie he told himself. Hadn’t his reticence only increased with time? Regardless, he knew the experiences had left him too quick to see fault—and knew it was ironic he should ascribe to anyone else what he feared they laid before his own feet at first sight: the possession of a fatal flaw.

Regardless of whys and wherefores, there was a lock on his heart—and he highly suspected he’d lost the key.

Xavier looked up from his perpetually unresolved inner dialogue, only to have his gaze settle on Lady Genevieve. That lady of the rich brown hair, and cherubic laugh, and keen eyes that strangely enhanced her bubbling laugh, and delectable curves…

No.

He called her friend, and that was enough. Xavier had parents who cared for him, a loving sister, and a sphere of friends who made him feel at his ease. He couldn’t have feelings for Genevieve…or at least he couldn’t act on them. At all.

And whoever heard of three of four brothers and sisters pairing off as partners, anyway? Only look to Penelope and Kenneth to see familiarity didn’t automatically lend itself to a good and true connection. Look, too, to Michael and Summer—the latter waiting for a wedding that looked increasingly never to occur. No, there could be no more rocking of this particular boat full of friends. Xavier must be grateful for so much of a fine life as he already possessed. He would ignore impossible daydreams.

Their belongings recovered, the gentlemen made their bows, the ladies their curtsies. Haddy promised to speak with Summer, but no one was in any doubt she’d accept the idea of the treasure hunt.

As their carriages rolled away, Xavier turned to Penelope, who froze when he fixed his gaze upon her. It seemed she might dart away, as was her wont of late, but then she turned to him with something very like tears in her eyes, shocking him. Gracious, he’d not seen tears from his sister since the day after Papa’s refusal of Kenneth Manning, when Xavier had come upon her in the garden.

He’d put his arms around her, allowing her to ruin his new waistcoat with her copious tears as she’d gasped out that she would elope with Kenneth. Then that she didn’t care a fig what Papa thought. That she was a modern woman who could certainly determine what was best for herself…

Finally, much more like herself, tears spent, Penelope had admitted that, yes, Papa was entirely correct. Mr. Manning’s status—not least his oft denuded purse—could not assure her comfort nor that of any offspring they’d have. She wouldn’t have minded that her rank far exceeded his…after all, it was the nineteenth century now and they’d certainly not be the first in such a disparity of status… But no, no, of course Mr. Manning must be refused. Naturally. He didn’t suit, could not. She must consider the manner of her future. Of course she must.

“It was just…just that I do wish my first proposal could have come from…from a more likely connection,” she said, pulling back to fan her tear-streaked face with one hand.  “I find a ‘no’ must be ever so much more awkward than a ‘yes.’” She managed a watery laugh, but then had to gulp down a sob before she could speak again. “Oh, take no notice of me.” This time she pushed clear away from his chest. “I shall be well. Quite well. After just a few more tears, I believe.” She tilted back her head, and blinked back tears as she seemed to beseech the ceiling for calm. She gave another damp laugh. “Or perhaps I shall throw myself in the Thames.”