The Bride Price (23 page)

Oh, Meadowbrook, that you will fill our inkwells and hasten our pens! What deeds are afoot that you might titillate us once more? No secret will stay safe in your bower.

P
arlor tricks, parties, cards, and amusements. The past days of the resumed competition had been full of games and jockeying. Caroline had barely seen Sebastien except at night when he’d sneak over to the cottage. Sarah had been sending her odd looks during the day—puzzled, probing looks. But then she too had been frazzled, her attention always following William.

When the competition adjourned to London tonight, they would need to sit down and chat. Most of the guests were following the competition to the city, so she and Sarah would be left to their own devices.

Cheevers clapped his hands together. The earl must have gone through two scores of gloves by now. “Today we have a special event planned. Not part of the competition, which will begin again tomorrow in London, but instead, an ancillary
game in which we can all participate before the carriages leave.”

The ladies tittered as he shot them a waggled brow.

“A treasure hunt, with a three-stone ruby necklace as the prize.”

The ladies stopped giggling and now looked as interested as the men, if not more so.

“We will draw for partners.”

Caroline sighed, knowing that her name was assuredly in the folly.

Names began to be drawn from the basket and teams started to form. Motley teams consisting of different makeups of contestants, women, fathers, and sons not competing. Sarah was picked for a team that included Everly, William, and Timtree. Caroline just hoped that William kept her out of the crosshairs of the other two.

The Duke of Grandien was chosen as the head of the next team to form. He reached in to pick slips for his team. Seated where she was, she could see him unconcernedly watching the crowd as he withdrew a slip.

“Sebastien.”

She kept her mouth smooth, her brows from creasing. Caroline wondered if she was the only one who saw Sebastien’s shoulders clench, his body stiffen. Not a second later he was lazily unfolding from his chair and walking toward his father.

The duke’s hand slipped back into the basket. “Benedict.”

Benedict stiffly walked forward as well, and the
murmurs grew before the duke’s cold gaze stifled them. He reached forward once more.

“Caroline Martin.”

She froze. Only Sarah’s wide eyes and subtle motion across the crowd forced her from her cold seat.

“Mrs. Martin.” The duke greeted her, his gaze direct and dissecting.

He handed the basket back to Cheevers, and she saw the slips fall from the duke’s fingers back into the basket. Crafty man. She would bet her last bonnet that their names hadn’t been placed in the basket to begin with.

That meant the earl was in on this plan, whatever it was, as well. Nervous energy tripped through her.

She stood next to them as the other teams formed. Her imagination ran wild as many of the male contestants kept eyeing her, not in a particularly coy way, but more watchful. It was unnerving. Harriet Noke regarded her through cool eyes but tilted her head in a vaguely companionable way, much to Caroline’s surprise and increasing unease.

As soon as all the teams had formed, Cheevers handed each team captain a packet of papers. The duke rifled through them, sorting them. Sebastien had already removed a cheroot and lit it. She had become entirely too used to it being just the two of them, and he had rarely smoked in her presence when they were alone. She found it jarring to see him do so now.

The duke handed a paper to Sebastien without
looking his way. He lazily grabbed it, exhaling as he did so. He might have seen Benedict’s wrath at being passed over, but for once he didn’t gloat. “Maps of the grounds. They look as if produced from a once-familiar hand—one which is thankfully unfamiliar now.”

She leaned over to see that they were the maps she had drawn before the competition began. Before she had sketched Roseford. Before she had met Sebastien Deville.

The uninspired maps had markings on them that weren’t hers though. Lines and dashes and a big starburst. A key told how many paces each dash was and what the other symbols meant.

The earl cleared his throat. “Every map is different so that teams can’t just follow one another, but there are intersections between each map, so you will have to beat different opponents to each spot. All teams start at the maze.”

The earl and his gaggle of solicitors had obviously learned a lesson from the horse hunt.

Caroline saw Timtree and Everly arguing while Sarah nervously chewed her lip. Sarah wouldn’t say anything to override the men, even if she knew the estate backward and forward. William finally stepped between them and grabbed the papers from Everly, who did
not
look pleased. Everly might not be aware that William had the support of the King, but Timtree seemed to as he smirked and motioned for Sarah to go ahead.

“You should give Mrs. Martin the map,” Sebastien said, dangling it between two fingers.

Benedict held a hand out. “Figures that you
would try and weasel out of this, Deville. I’ll find our way around.” He moved to take the papers, but the duke barely acknowledged him as he made a cutting motion.

“Give the map to Mrs. Martin then. We’ll see what a woman can do. She must be incredibly good at something to garner this level of support.”

Foul man. She wanted to borrow Sebastien’s tinderbox to set the map on fire.

Sebastien handed her the map, a wink hidden behind a screen of smoke. Benedict couldn’t see it, and good thing too as he already had a petulant set to his face. She knew they disliked each other. Intensely. But she felt for the moppish man who always seemed to be on the lesser end of his father’s stick.

She couldn’t help herself when they entered the maze. She whispered to Benedict, “You shouldn’t let the duke bother you. He thrives on it. Take away his entertainment.”

Benedict cast a surprised glance her way, pinched his lips together, and continued on without answering.

They stepped to the edge of the maze, where the other teams were gathered as well, a large contingent of people milling about, excited and fierce.

“This is a race. Collect all of the items on the list and cross the line first to win.” Cheevers held up the necklace so that it sparkled in the sun. “Good luck. You may begin.”

A few teams took off in various directions, while others examined their maps, noses buried in the folds and creases.

The duke raised a brow at her. The first marking said fifteen paces inside the maze and look right. She repeated the directions, and they were off. The three men walked briskly forward, each counting as he went, not trusting the others.

They found the approximate spot and immediately spotted a small ring inside a hedge. Rings from the first competition were being reused, and something inside her felt a strange thrill from it, the games coming around full circle.

They collected the first three tokens easily. The duke and Sebastien immediately strode in the direction of the next one. Caroline stepped after them, turning to see Benedict absently touching a wildflower near where they had found the third ring. There was a wistful expression on his face. He obviously thought he was unobserved, and she felt a twinge.

“We will not run like unmannerly children, but do keep up, Benedict,” the duke said stridently over his shoulder.

He said nothing in response, frame tight. It was the fourth such casual insult. Even maintaining the pace of the duke and Sebastien, Benedict had been derided for the number of steps to his stride—“ungainly,” the duke had said.

They continued collecting, a sort of chilly, tense grip in every quip and response.

The duke had not uttered a single negative comment about Sebastien’s role, but his eyes tracked him. The cock of Grandien’s head questioning whether Sebastien was going to trip up and disappoint. And the way Sebastien held himself in
return said he was well aware and used to this look. He shot Benedict a sneer as the other made a less than wise suggestion.

Caroline had a sudden moment of clarity. Each son thought the father favored the other more. Benedict would never believe Sebastien’s hardships, and Sebastien would never acknowledge the duke’s shabby treatment of Benedict. Sebastien chose to give the duke a flash of his bare backside with his responses, whereas Benedict was forever trying to curry his favor.

She stumbled into Sebastien’s back, too caught up in her epiphany.

Sebastien whirled and caught her as she pitched backward. His hands comfortably secured about her waist, as hers grabbed for his arms, scrambling up and around his neck. He paused for a second. She looked up at him in shock, and the urge to giggle rose at the absurdity of the whole game. She laughed, and his eyes reflected humor, before turning into something more intense. He lifted her, and her fingers curled farther around his neck, bringing them closer.

“If you would let Mrs. Martin go, we can get on with the hunt.”

Sebastien didn’t look at Benedict, but he did smile lazily at Caroline before lifting her so that she could stand on her own. She ran a flustered hand over her dress, having forgotten for a second that there was anyone else there besides the two of them.

Benedict’s lips were tight, but he nodded at her before moving forward along the path. The duke’s
eyes were narrowed upon her, before he too resumed walking. She wondered at the picture they had made.

“Don’t mind them. Benedict has always been fussy and priggish. And the duke—little does his opinion matter.”

She thought about her own dealings with the earl and how much power he had. No, she didn’t believe that the duke’s opinion meant so little to Sebastien. But she was also sure that he would never let the duke’s opinion sway him, unlike Benedict.

They collected the last ring and strode toward the finish line, winning with time to spare. For all that the three might not like one another, they worked remarkably well together—if one didn’t pay attention to the underlying tension and dislike.

Cheevers handed the necklace box and other prizes to the duke. “Congratulations to the duke and his team!” He turned to address the rest of the guests. “You may continue gaming outside or retire within. The first fleet of carriages will be called after dinner, for those of you desiring to travel together.”

The duke opened the box and inspected the necklace within. “I think we should award the prize to Mrs. Martin, for putting up with the rest of us.” Narrowed eyes that unnerved her took in the two younger men. “Wouldn’t you agree, boys?”

Sebastien raised a brow at the address and tapped an unlit cheroot against his leg. Benedict watched his father, his gaze untrusting.

“After all, she helped Sebastien win his bet, did she not? I think it only fair since you boys made a bet on her that she also reap a reward.”

Benedict’s face turned white, his eyes panicked as he looked at Sebastien. She turned to Sebastien, who was looking at the duke with eyes flat and cold. Deadly.

“What bet?” a voice asked that sounded unfamiliar coming from her mouth.

The duke looked at her in amusement. “I believe the bet was about bedding you at first, but turned into something about making you fall in love with Sebastien. Since it is well-known that Sebastien doesn’t believe in love and Benedict has silly notions about the state, I must claim myself the arbiter, and I believe the bet has been resolved. I took the liberty of securing the item which was bet from Benedict’s room. Timely. The look on your face after you stumbled and Sebastien caught you can hardly be faked.”

He lifted a pocket watch and held it out to Sebastien, who pivoted and walked away without a word. The duke slipped the watch back into his waistcoat, smiling. Benedict looked unnaturally alarmed as his eyes switched from his brother’s retreating back to the duke, then Caroline. He took off after Sebastien.

“Manners obviously do not run in the family, but other ill traits do, alas.” The duke’s outline went blurry, even as his mouth kept moving. He tapped the box. “You have earned this, Mrs. Martin. Good day to you.”

She numbly took the box that was thrust into
her hands. The duke smiled and walked away, following the path of his sons.

The earl appeared in her view. “Mrs. Martin? Mrs. Martin, I need you to run a few tasks for me.”

She swallowed and nodded. Just because Sebastien had looked as if he wanted nothing more than to kill the duke, it did not mean the bet was not true, and Benedict’s strange reaction indicated there was some truth to the duke’s words as well.

“Good. First I need you to go into the village, then to the Wallace house to drop off a piece of correspondence. Then—”

Clarity took hold. She held up her hand. “Why would you send me on these tasks? You have plenty of servants, and I am hardly one.” Her spine snapped rigid. Something she could control in front of her.

“Everyone is busy helping the guests pack. Besides, you can get Mr. Wallace to cede twice the negotiated rate. I’ve received more than one word that he is going to offer for you.”

She smiled bitterly, seeing the earl’s influence in more than just this. “Just hand me what you will. I find I don’t care at the moment.” She’d find out from Sebastien what the bet was about, though from her knowledge of him over the past six weeks or so, the bet made sense, if the feelings behind it did not. If he chose not to come to her, that would be an answer in and of itself.

She went on the tasks, and by the time she returned, it was after dinner and nearly every guest was gone. Most noticeably, the one guest she’d in
quired after. The watching eyes of the other men as they’d begun the treasure hunt made sense the more she thought on it. They probably all knew about the bet. No wonder Cheevers had tried to warn her off. Why hadn’t he just told her instead of playing the duke’s game?

She handed the wrapped box she had been carrying around all day to a messenger who was leaving for the city. “Deliver this to Mr. Sebastien Deville’s residence.” She gave him the address she had found after going through the earl’s study. “Tell him he’s earned it.”

As the boy disappeared down the drive she felt a wave of pettiness from the action, but she straightened her shoulders.