Chapter Thirty (part two)

Was it too much to hope that this nonsense would be over quickly?

Byrne paced the patio as the footmen helped bring a chaise out for Mrs. Baddeley's comfort. He didn't resent that part. He was actually relieved she was on the mend and that things would be less chaotic with her back to hostessing.

What he did resent was that there were to be games that everyone, even he, must attend. He'd managed to get out of the scavenger hunt, but Mrs. Baddeley seemed very insistent on his being present for this bit of... fun, if that's what she insisted on calling it.

He'd never been one for games. Even as a child, he'd found them pointless. Even if he won, what did he win? A waste of time that could have been spent on more useful things?

Of course, the idea that everyone must be present meant that Miss Crewe could no longer hide away. He'd not found her in the dining room. Declan had informed him she'd breakfasted very early with the other ladies. He'd not found her in the woods, playing with that silly dog. He'd tried every possible room before he stood in front of her own.

God, it felt illicit, just laying his hand on her door before he steeled himself and knocked. He reminded himself that there was nothing illicit about his intentions. In fact, they were perfectly honorable. He would invite her on a walk... to simply talk. If a kiss or two happened, that would also be perfectly respectable. They were practically engaged.

Unfortunately — or perhaps fortunately — it was her maid who answered the door.

"Ah, Mr. Byrne. A pleasure," Miss Finch said, sounding like seeing him was the farthest thing from that. "If you're looking for my mistress, she's not here."

He was taken aback, considering he'd been very kind about her. He'd not blinked at her distracting his staff with her antics and fanciful drawings. But perhaps she didn't know that.

"Miss Finch," he began politely, or so he thought, stopping her from closing the door. "I hear you have a way with a pencil. The servants say they enjoy your... endeavors."

She stiffened and partially closed the door. "And what is that to you?"

"Nothing at all," he gritted out through his smile.

"They are Sir Anthony's servants, are they not? Why has he not come to congratulate me?" She tilted her head.

He tilted his as well. Tony had said he'd let Miss Crewe in on Byrne's funding of this party, but he never imagined she'd let her maid in as well. He saw no reason to mince words. "So you know."

"I know only that your interest in my mistress is not... appropriate and that you would do better to leave her alone," she said, succeeding in closing the door this time.He was too surprised to stop it.

Of all the things he thought might stand in the way of his marriage to Miss Crewe, he'd never thought her maid would be one of them.

Damn it, had the maid pleaded Tony's case? Would that have convinced Miss Crewe to...

He needed answers and, he supposed, he should be grateful Miss Crewe — along with all the guests present — would be on this patio soon enough.

Yes, he'd rather the things he had to say, along with the questions he had to ask, be only between the two of them, but he'd endure a party game or two before he could drag her off and ask her what the devil was going on.

He brightened a bit as Tony came out... and glowering heavily. He wouldn't be doing so if Miss Crewe had accepted him.

Byrne reminded himself he should not be so joyful at Tony's misfortune as he approached him, sobering his expression. "Tony, what has you so glum?"

"I do not want to discuss it," Tony burst out.

Byrne drew back. Hadn't he told himself that Tony would not be broken-hearted at Miss Crewe's rejection? Were his feelings stronger than his convenient proposal would suggest?

"Except to say," Tony went on, plucking a hydrangea bloom from a pot, "that her pretense at civility is just that. She is an absolute shrew," he finished, crushing the blossom in his fist before tossing it over the wall.

Byrne felt moved to defend her at that. "She is nothing like a—"

"And how would you know?" Tony broke in, turning sharply to him. "All you know of Miss Marbury is that sweet little show she puts on."

"Miss Marbury?" Byrne shook his head.

"I can assure you, she's shown me a different side... a very shrewish, stubborn, vindictive—"

Byrne let out a wheeze of a laugh. "I thought you were talking about Miss Crewe."

"Miss Crewe? What does she have to do with this?"

"Did you not speak with her today?"

"Yes. And at least she had the decency to—" Tony stopped glowering then, finally noticing his aunt. "Aunt Dotty!"

"Tony, my dear," Mrs. Baddeley cooed.

"The decency to... what?" Byrne tried.

But Tony was already approaching Mrs. Baddeley with open arms. "Are you certain you feel well enough to exert yourself so?"

Byrne couldn't help glowering now. He supposed he could stalk off and glower at the wall for all the good it would do. In fact, he did that, inching along it, hoping Tony might say something useful to his aunt.

"...darling boy, I have been very ill indeed," she said, embracing him tightly, "but not so much that I shall abandon you in your hour of need. If we are to win your bride—"

"Yes, about my bride," Tony started pulling her away. "There's been a slight..."

Byrne tried to move closer, but he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"So we are to have our lunch out of doors today?" Mr. Walford said, shaking his head. "I personally don't feel it's a healthful practice."

"Whether it is or not," Lord Swinton said, shoring up Byrne's other side, "the food should attract some other visitors — of the winged or many-legged variety," he enthused.

"Still, I don't feel this patio is quite sound," Walford said doubtfully. "The stones are loose and the walls look like they may tumble—"

"I think it's good enough for a luncheon," Byrne cut in, annoyed. He still hadn't the slightest idea whether Miss Crewe had actually given Tony an answer. At least she had the decency to... what? Refuse his proposal kindly? Accept it enthusiastically?

Damn it, what?

Before, he'd felt so sure of her refusal, but he wouldn't make that mistake again. It could very well be that Tony's proposal was just what she wanted — a marriage that wasn't truly a marriage.

She seemed too passionate for such a bloodless thing. But perhaps he didn't know her at all. He wondered if she truly did wish for...

He wasn't given much time to wonder as the ladies, along with damned Oliver Browning, started to wander out.

Yet he found himself paying closer attention, since that meant she would come. He gave Lady Adele, Miss Poole, their chaperons, Miss Marbury, and even Miss Hartley polite nods as they spilled onto the patio, yet where was she?

"Splendid! So lovely to see you all," Mrs. Baddeley exclaimed, clapping her hands.

Byrne rather wanted to point out that all of them weren't yet present, but most of them then became engrossed in congratulating her on her recovery. Since he'd already done that, he was impatient about getting on with things. And, Mrs. Baddeley being Mrs. Baddeley, she made a little speech of it.

He gritted his teeth at her crediting Oliver Browning for her return to health.

Still, Mrs. Baddeley soon had her fill of speeches and well-wishes and clapped her hands again. "Now! The game, after lunch, is to be Questions and Commands. One partner asks a question and the other must respond. But if they cannot answer, they must take the command..." Here, she blushed slightly. "And I shall turn a blind eye if the command or forfeit is of a... romantic nature."

Here, there were several gasps and several groans. Byrne didn't really care which came from whom as he kept staring at the doors, willing Miss Crewe to appear. Perhaps he might be partnered with her and finally know...

"I'd like you to get to know your partners over lunch," Mrs. Baddeley said. "So we shall pair you off first."

Byrne wondered if she'd take some sort of pity on him, if he asked nicely, and pair him off as he wished, but Mrs. Baddeley soon held up a box.

"I have here the name of every gentleman present," she said. "The ladies need only choose. Who shall choose first?"

The only one who seemed eager was Miss Hartley, who pranced forward, staring into the box. "Well, I'm sure I have no preference at all among such charming—"

"Ah-ah!" Mrs. Baddeley held it higher. "We must choose blindly."

Miss Hartley's smiled dropped, as did her sweet tone. "Must we?" She sighed and chose a bit of paper, frowning as she unfolded it. "Mr. Browning."

Byrne was perfectly fine with the two people he liked least pairing off, but Miss Hartley seemed to have an objection.

"But surely that was only a demonstration of how to choose," she said, smiling with very little humor. "I should not be paired with a... a..."

Byrne couldn't help a glance toward Oliver Browning as she dithered, who looked down, his face red. He shouldn't care. Even if he was his brother by blood, Byrne had made it clear he was unwelcome. If he should face embarrassment, it was his own fault for staying, damn it.

"With a Cambridge man," she finally finished. "You see, I am just a simple girl from Yorkshire," Miss Hartley went on, "and would not be equal to answering his questions. Surely Mr. Browning should prefer another partner."

"Indeed, he should," Miss Crewe suddenly called from the French doors. "I would happily partner him." She plucked the bit of paper from Mary's hand as she passed and approached Oliver, not even looking Byrne's way. "I am also from Yorkshire, but I am not so simple as to not relish a challenge," she said with glance back at Mary.

Mary Hartley huffed a bit at that. "I didn't mean simple in that way."

There went his plans. So she was to partner with his duplicitous brother over him? Yes, she had no way of knowing that he was his brother, or duplicitous, but still...

"Miss Hartley, you have yet to select a partner." Mrs. Baddeley shook the box. "You shall now choose in earnest."

Miss Hartley tossed a glance Byrne's way then, smirking. "Let us hope my choice is correct this time."

Oh, God! That was all he needed!

Miss Hartley plucked out and unfolded the next, smiling at first. "Mr... Walford," she finished with a frown. "Perhaps if I may—"

"Yes, off you go," Mrs. Baddeley urged, shooing her away and calling on Miss Poole to choose.

Miss Poole chose Lord Swinton.

Lady Adele drew Tony.

Miss Marbury, with no other options left, drew Byrne. Yet Byrne did not consider that a loss. Hadn't Tony just been complaining about Miss Marbury? Perhaps she held the answers.

"Miss Marbury." He approached her with a slight bow. "A delight."

"Is it?" she said absently, her gaze narrowed upon Tony before she turned back to him, flushing. "I mean, it is. For me... also, Mr. Byrne."

It was just as well she was barely minding him now as he had half an eye on Miss Crewe and Browning, who had filled their plates and gone to the low stone wall.

He hurried Miss Marbury at filling her plate so they could claim the wrought iron table nearest them, making certain to pull out a chair for her that left him partially facing the other pair.

"I'm sorry I dithered so," she sighed. "I have very recently gained a... certain freedom in what I am allowed to eat and hardly know what to do with it."

"Yes, freedom is important," he said quickly, straining to hear the pair sat on the wall, picking at their plates between them. He should have picked the closest chair.

"...really should spend this time devising a strategy if we are to win," he heard Miss Crewe say.

"I don't think we can win," Browning said on a laugh.

"Of course we can. You are highly educated and I am... quite resourceful," she said. "Why shouldn't we win?"

Bloodthirsty little thing, wasn't she? Hadn't Tony said she was quite competitive about their scavenger hunt?

"The vegetable tart is very good," Miss Marbury said.

"Yes, delicious," he said, taking a bite of the small tart, barely tasting it. "So much so that we should perhaps savor it in silence." He bent his ear to Browning and Miss Crewe again.

"... only meant that this doesn't seem to be a game with winners," Browning clarified.

"That's rotten luck. I do like winning things when I can," Miss Crewe said.

"I think the object is to better know your partner," Browning said.

"Well, then I shall consider myself a winner to have a partner I'd like to know better." She smiled.

Browning blushed, grinning at his plate. "You are very kind to say so."

What was she playing at? The lad couldn't be more than nineteen and she was... God, he forgot how old she was. That was not the point. To flirt so blatantly with his... Then again, perhaps she was just being kind. He'd rather she direct it elsewhere.

"Nothing kind about it," she said. "You are studying medicine and, apparently, against the wishes of your family. That makes you quite the romantic figure."

Byrne growled, then endeavored to turn it into a cough. Either way, Miss Crewe looked up at that, her eyes meeting his for the first time since she came out.

Then she quickly looked away, plucking up her plate. "I think we should eat closer to the garden. There's a lovely little pond that way."

"That does sound nice," Browning said, following her like a puppy. "There are medicinal herbs that grow in proximity to water that are quite beneficial in..."

"Damn it," Byrne groaned, then turned at Miss Marbury's shocked gasp. "I mean... Pardon my language, but damn it, this is the best vegetable tart I've... I've ever had," he finished awkwardly, shoving the rest in his mouth.

Miss Marbury stilled looked mildly horrified. "It must be the brussels sprouts. They have such a lovely flavor."

Well, now he was horrified. Yes, he could taste them now, the noxious smelling evil little cabbage impostors. Still, he couldn't spit it out, could he? That would be worse than cursing about the disgusting little... He chewed thoughtfully. He would probably go to his grave before saying so to Miss Doyle, but they were... not half bad, at least in a tart.

He sighed and wiped his mouth, regaining his manners. If the object of this game was to better know your partner, then he would be rude not to at least converse with his — especially since Miss Crewe was now sitting on the grass with blasted Browning, much too far away to hear.

And, lest he forget, Miss Marbury might hold some clue as to how successful Tony was — or hopefully not — in his proposal. "Miss Marbury, I can go no longer without asking..."

She finished her bite and gave him a curious look.

How was he even to ask what he wished to know? "...if the cheese tart is any good," he ended weakly, glancing at her plate. It had a cheese tart, but also a pile of cold asparagus and beetroot.

"Oh. I've not tried it yet. I was hoping I might fill up on vegetables and resist it in the end." She gave it a longing glance.

"Why should you resist it?" he asked.

"Well, as I said, even with my newfound freedom, perhaps I should not be so... free?" she finished doubtfully.

Yes, she had said something about that before... about freedom to eat. Freedom from what? "Why should freedom have limits? What is so bad about having a meal you enjoy?"

"Mary always says, if I am to reduce myself, I should avoid things that... that I enjoy."

"Do you mean Miss Hartley?" She was the only one called Mary here. He scoffed. "What the devil does she have to do with what you eat?"

She laughed slightly. "You sound like Prudence."

"Prudence?"

"Miss Crewe," she clarified, then tilted her head. "Perhaps I shouldn't call her that to you. Some of the girls have taken to using our given names."

"Ah, yes," he said. "Girls do that." Men seemed to show their camaraderie by using each other's last names, but... Prudence? He'd known that was her first name, so why did it feel strange to say it? Perhaps she'd been Miss Crewe to him for too long.

"Of course, Miss Crewe hasn't become accustomed to using our names and I can't imagine why." Miss Marbury frowned.

He could imagine why. There was something about her name that felt... wrong somehow. Prudence drew forth images of ladies who managed lending libraries or boxed boys' ears for misbehaving. Miss Crewe laughed too readily to be called something like Prudence.

"Speaking of Miss Crewe," he began. "Miss Marbury, I'd like to discuss the events of this morning. I suspect you know more than most what Tony... I mean, what Sir Anthony..."

"Did he tell you to scold me for eavesdropping?" Miss Marbury huffed and leaned forward. "I did not." She drew back slightly. "I mean, I did, but unwillingly. I was practicing, which I have leave to do!"

"Of course you have leave to... I am not scolding—"

"Very well," she broke in. "I was not practicing yet. I was woolgathering a bit, but then they suddenly burst in and... I mean, what would anyone do?"

"I'm trying to work that out," he said, quite at sea. "If you could be clear on who suddenly—"

"So I hid under the piano." She stared at her lap. "Yes, I could have announced myself, but I didn't expect to be intruded upon and I panicked."

"Perfectly understandable." He supposed?

"But yes." She held up a hand. "I am very aware this is not my house and I should not expect privacy here, but when he came in and—"

"Are we all ready for some fun?" Mrs. Baddeley exclaimed.

"No," Byrne said aloud before he could stop himself. God, he was making a damned hash of it all today. Everyone turned their eyes his way. Everyone but Miss Crewe. And while he might admit to himself that he was a bit desperate for her attention, he was not about to admit it to everyone. "I... I am not yet done with lunch," he said, having nothing better. He took a large and very indelicate bite of the cheese tart on his plate. "There," he said around a mouthful, feeling like an absolute dolt. This was what she had reduced him to.

"Well!" Mrs. Baddeley clapped her hands together. "I'm so glad you all enjoyed getting to know one another over lunch, and I hope you have used this time wisely, for that is the object, if you please! Come, come..."

After some awkward murmurs, the pairs left their plates and gathered around Mrs. Baddeley, who seemed quite pleased with herself.

"You see, I have added my own little touch to the game. You must answer questions about your partner and those who know them best shall win the day!"

"You see?" Miss Crewe poked at Browning's shoulder. "I told you there was a way to win."

Browning laughed. "I'd never gainsay you."

Byrne held in a growl. Apparently, the pair of them were getting quite cozy.

"And what would we win?" Miss Crewe called out.

"I am so glad you asked," Mrs. Baddeley said with obvious delight. "Our winner will choose the manner in which this party will end."

The murmurs became awkward again, obviously wondering what this meant.

Mrs. Baddeley approached Miss Crewe. "Perhaps we shall witness an artist at work."

Byrne noted Miss Crewe's eyes grew wide as she shook her head...

But Mrs. Baddeley didn't linger as she then turned to Mr. Browning. "Or listen to a doctor at the top of his craft."

Browning stared down, red-faced. Why the hell did he do that all the time? It was one thing to blush for Miss Crewe, but Mrs. Baddeley?

As for Mrs. Baddeley, she now neared Lord Swinton. "Shall we end with a lecture on bugs?" Here she turned to Mr. Walford. "Or should it be a lecture on ancient ruins?"

There was a groan of, "No, it shouldn't," that Byrne suspected came from Miss Hartley, still very unhappy with her partner.

Mrs. Baddeley, obviously enjoying this dramatic turn, whirled on Miss Poole. "Or shall we have recitations of poetry?" She squeezed Cecilia's arm as they passed. "Perhaps a lovely musicale to stir our spirits?" She turned to Lady Adele, then. "Or shall it be a meal of exquisite French cuisine?" She stopped before Byrne. "Perhaps we shall all learn about speculation and investments." She then stopped before Tony. "Or perhaps we shall all end with a fun, little game that makes all of us very good friends!" She stopped before Miss Hartley... "And... so forth," she finished awkwardly.

Byrne didn't blame her. As far as Miss Hartley, he couldn't imagine how she'd like to end things. Showered in gold? Or in the blood of her enemies? Really, it could be either.

"Whatever happens, there will be a week to plan whatever delights might be in store," Mrs. Baddeley went on, "Whoever wins the day shall win our final night!"

And while Byrne had no investment at all in lecturing these dilettantes on trading stocks and speculations, he did note that, among the others, the chatter suddenly grew...

*******************

Who do we think should win?

Just to let you know, I went ahead and submitted this story for the Wattys in the "ongoing story" category. Wish me luck with the judges! Regency Romance is perennially popular, but it's still a niche genre and not something everyone reads.

But I promise you all that this won't be ongoing for much longer. In Regency time and real time, this story ends before Christmas, so I aim to finish by then and give you something to cuddle on those cold, winter nights.

If you are reading and enjoying, be sure to like and comment, even if it's just a smile, a laugh, or those lovely heart-eyes. Every little bit of activity helps a story get traction, attention, more readers, happy authors who feel more and more motivated to write, and attention from the almighty algorithm.

Much love and Mopsy's kisses for all! Be back on the weekend! <3