Chapter 6 #2
The token was not immediately visible.
"Keeper of petals," she murmured, scanning the structure. "Steady hands and observant eyes."
Crewe spotted it, tucked into a tree hollow just beyond the arbor's reach, where an ancient oak spread its branches over the roses like a protective parent. "There," he said, pointing. "But how—"
Alice was already moving. A stone bench stood beneath the tree, decorative rather than practical, its surface just wide enough for a pair of determined feet. She gathered her skirts in one hand and stepped onto it before Crewe could object.
"Lady Alice—"
"Spare me your concerns." She reached for the hollow, her fingertips brushing the bark. “I have climbed higher than this many times."
The token was just beyond her reach. She rose onto her toes, one hand bracing against the trunk, her body stretching into a position that would have scandalized her mother and delighted her younger self. The brass disc caught the light, tantalizingly close.
Her fingers closed around it.
"Ha!" She pulled the token free, brandishing it like a trophy, and looked down to find Crewe watching her with an expression she could not immediately categorize. Reluctant admiration, perhaps, or the frustration of a man whose expectations had been upended.
"You might have fallen," he said.
"I did not fall." She stepped down from the bench with deliberate grace and straightened her skirts. “Leastwise, I rarely do."
He took the token from her hand, his fingers brushing hers briefly, warm even through their gloves. “You are rather good at this," he said, and the words sounded as if they had been extracted from him by force, each syllable reluctant.
Warmth stirred in her chest—pleasure, certainly, but also something more complicated. "Was that another compliment, Lord Crewe?"
"An observation." His eyes held hers a moment too long, and the corner of his mouth twitched in what might, generously, be called the beginning of a smile.
They unfolded the fourth riddle together, heads bent over the paper in unwitting intimacy.
Neptune's tears in marble hands,
Where water flows at stern commands,
The tokens hide where naiads play,
In shadows cast at close of day.
Crewe frowned. "Neptune's tears. Another fountain?"
"Not quite." Alice's mind raced as she sorted through her mental inventory of the gardens.
"The lily pond. The statue of Neptune at its center holds a bowl that catches water from the ornamental falls.
Marble hands, stern commands, shadows at dusk.
The western light casts shadows toward the naiads at the pond's edge. "
She looked up to find Crewe's eyebrows raised, a small movement that spoke volumes.
"How did you…” He stopped himself. "Never mind. Lead on."
They walked toward the lily pond, their pace quickening, the competition humming between them like a plucked string. Other pairs were visible in the distance. The sisters arguing near the fountain, Mr. Davenant scratching his head beside the hedge maze, but Alice and Crewe were clearly ahead.
"You know," she said as they rounded the bend toward the water, "you might try enjoying this."
"I am attempting to tolerate it.” He replied. “Enjoyment seems excessive."
Yet something lighter crept into his voice now, a hint of humor beneath the severity. Alice caught it and felt her smile sharpen into something genuine.
The lily pond spread before them, its surface scattered with pale blooms, the marble Neptune presiding over it all with stone-faced dignity. In the shadows cast by a cluster of carved naiads lay the glint of brass.
Fourth token secured. One remained.
The fifth riddle lay between them, its words obscured by the dappled shade of a willow whose branches trailed toward the pond's surface like fingers seeking water.
Alice studied the paper with narrowed eyes, too aware of Crewe's shoulder near hers, the warmth radiating from him despite the cool breeze off the water.
Where Grecian forms in silence stand,
And earthen vessels hold the land,
The highest reaches guard the prize,
For those who dare to seek the skies.
"Urns," Alice murmured. "The decorative urns along the terrace. Some are mounted on columns."
"That covers considerable ground." Crewe's voice was thoughtful rather than dismissive. "We need to narrow it further."
They had been working together for nearly an hour, and something had shifted in the space between them.
The clipped exchanges had given way to collaboration, the antagonism softening into a rhythm that felt almost natural.
Alice was not certain she approved of this development. Natural was dangerous.
"Clara!"
The voice came from behind them, and Alice turned to see her friend approaching along the garden path, parasol tilted against the sun. Clara moved with the ease of a hostess who knew her surroundings well, her smile carrying a familiarity that Alice recognized with caution.
"How marvelous," Clara said, linking her arm through Alice's effortlessly. “You are ahead of all the other pairs. Crispin will be quite smug about his pairing."
"Crispin's instincts are self-serving," Alice replied. "As we both know."
"Naturally." Clara guided Alice slightly away from Crewe, toward the pavilion where guests had gathered for refreshments. Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial murmur. "Lieutenant Harrington has been watching you all morning. Perhaps you might offer him a smile?"
Alice followed Clara's discreet glance toward the pavilion. The lieutenant stood near the refreshment table, a tall officer in uniform, his posture straight, his features unremarkable. He was focused on her, the kind of attention that suggested he hoped to catch her eye.
Such gazes were nothing new. Alice had faced them since her debut, collecting admirers as others collected ribbons, more from habit than desire. But today felt different. The weight of Crewe's presence behind her made the prospect of flirtation feel less like a game and more like a duty.
Still, she was Alice Pickford. Performance was second nature.
"A smile is easily given," she said lightly. "What do you want in return?"
Clara's dimple appeared. "I want you to enjoy yourself. Is that so terrible?"
"Depends on your definition of enjoyment."
Yet, she found herself moving toward the pavilion, her stride confident from years of practice. Lieutenant Harrington straightened as she approached, his expression shifting from hope to delight.
"Lieutenant." Alice extended her hand warmly. "I understand you have just returned from the Peninsula. You must have seen extraordinary things."
He bowed over her fingers with precision. "Nothing so extraordinary as the company at Oakford Hall, I assure you."
"Flatterer." She withdrew her hand with a laugh. "Tell me about the cavalry. I hear the charges are quite spectacular, all thunder and glory."
The lieutenant needed little encouragement. He launched into an animated account of a recent skirmish, his gestures expansive and his voice rich with enthusiasm. Alice listened with feigned interest, asking questions at appropriate intervals and tilting her head to suggest fascination.
All the while, her gaze drifted past his shoulder to where Crewe stood by the lily pond, waiting.
He still held the riddle, his head bent over the paper as if deciphering it required his full concentration.
But Alice knew better. She saw the tension in his shoulders—rigid and braced for impact.
His fingers tightened on the paper, creasing it.
He glanced up, then away, then up again, watching her with lowered lashes.
Something warm and dangerous stirred in her chest.
"And of course the horses are everything," the lieutenant was saying. "Without a good mount, even the finest saber means nothing."
"How fortunate that you are an excellent judge of horseflesh," Alice said kindly, even as her attention remained divided.
When she finally excused herself, citing the treasure hunt and promising to continue their conversation at dinner, the lieutenant called after her about the waltz. She laughed in response and turned back toward the lily pond.
Crewe was waiting. His expression had turned cooler, the warmth of their earlier exchange replaced by distance.
"If you have finished your social obligations," he said, "we have a challenge to complete."
Alice’s smile faltered, caught off guard by the edge in his voice. Something had changed in the minutes she was gone, and that something stood before her with flinty eyes and a jaw tight enough to crack walnuts.
"Why, Lord Crewe." She recovered quickly, tilting her chin in challenge. "One might almost think you cared."
The words landed between them like a stone in still water. She watched the ripples move across his features—surprise, followed by something darker, and then the careful blankness that served as his armor.
"I care about winning," he said flatly. "Nothing more."
"Of course." Alice took the riddle from his hands, her fingers brushing against his lightly. "Shall we? The Grecian urns await, and I would hate to keep them waiting."
She walked toward the terrace without waiting for his response, and his gaze followed, heavy and complex, carrying the weight of unspoken words. The lieutenant's attention had been pleasant and easily managed. Crewe's was not.
It was, she realized, precisely what she had wanted.
The thought was inconvenient. She filed it away for later and focused on the terrace ahead, where ornamental urns stood on marble columns, one of them surely holding their final prize.
The game was almost over. But something else, she suspected, had only just begun.