Chapter 11
Tired of being alone on the terrace, Anne rose from the chaise longue and entered the house. She’d go mad from the inactivity. Taut frustration banded her chest from Ashton’s insistence that she rest after her ordeal in the lake.
As if she were porcelain, like a fragile doll! Small in stature, yes, but she was made of sterner stuff.
Searching through the house, she remembered Mr. Grey had mentioned going to the library. Regardless of what Miranda had said, Anne wondered if she simply hadn’t given Mr. Grey a fair chance.
Unfortunately, when she arrived, she found the library empty. Although Anne preferred more physical activities than reading, she reluctantly admitted that her unexpected dip in the lake had exhausted her, so perhaps a book might occupy her mind for a while and allow her to regain her strength.
A slim tome sat on a side table, and a lovely pink dahlia rested on top.
She lifted the flower and inhaled deeply, the scent faint and a little bitter.
Not at all like the sweet fragrance of her favorite—roses.
Despite that, it was quite beautiful. Next, she examined the book.
Emma. Hadn’t Honoria mentioned that very book to Anne, suggesting she would find the titular character much to her liking?
Who had left the flower on top like a gift?
A fizzle of excitement raced through her as she remembered why she had come to the library in the first place. Had Mr. Grey left this for her? Had Honoria mentioned the book to him and that she believed Anne would enjoy it?
With the flower and book in hand, she settled herself in a comfortable wingback chair. Before she knew it, the story had captivated her, although Mr. Knightley seemed exceptionally judgmental. Each time the name Mr. Knightley appeared on the page, Anne envisioned the grump, Lord Manning.
“Aunt Anne! There you are!” Indira rushed in and closed the door behind her. “Please help me. We’re playing hide and seek again, and this time I’m the seeker. I hate this game!” She plopped down in the opposite chair and crossed her thin arms over her body.
Anne closed the book. Just as well, as she was beginning to nod off anyway. “And how am I to help?”
“Help me find where they’re hiding.”
“Wouldn’t that be cheating?”
“Not if we don’t tell them. And since you’ve been here before, you know all the good hiding places . . .” The impish grin on her niece’s face set Anne a bit on edge. What was the child up to?
“Very well.” Anne set the book back on the table and tucked the flower behind her ear. She’d keep that and hope Mr. Grey would notice that she wore it. “But only this once.”
“Let’s look in the ballroom!”
Anne shook her head. “That’s not a likely place to hide. It’s much too open.”
“Please, Aunt Anne.” Something in the girl’s insistence unnerved Anne, but she acquiesced. At least she wouldn’t be bored and thinking about Lord Manning each time she read about Mr. Knightley.
With Indira’s hand in hers, they went to the ballroom. Proving Anne right, the large room provided little opportunity for a person to hide. About to give up and suggest they try somewhere else, Anne’s attention caught on a spot perfect for a small child to tuck themselves away.
She pointed toward the set of steps leading to a dais where the orchestra would assemble, then put a finger to her lips and whispered, “See the little gap under the stairs?”
Indira nodded, then whispered back, “But no one can see you, or they’ll know you helped me.
You have to hide, too.” Indira grabbed Anne’s hand and led her back into the long hallway.
“Here.” Still keeping her voice low, Indira pointed to a door much too narrow to be the entrance to a room.
“It’s some sort of storage place. I hid in it yesterday before Cassie found me. It’s big enough for you.”
Before Anne knew it, Indira’s small hands pressed against her back and shoved her through the door and into the small room.
The door slammed shut behind her, and a soft click followed.
Darkness engulfed her. She wasn’t terrified of the dark, like a child, but she detested being in cramped places.
An irrational fear that she wouldn’t be able to breathe slammed into her, and with her near drowning, she’d had enough of that for one day.
Something in the closet—that wasn’t her—moved! Instantly, her fear of not being able to breathe was replaced by one even greater. Rodents made her skin crawl.
Panic bloomed in her chest, inching up and constricting her throat. Not that, too! Hands pressed against the door, she felt for the doorknob and twisted. Hard. The darn thing wouldn’t budge.
“Indira. Let me out!” A rustling sound came closer, and she pounded on the door.
The something snaked around her, brushing against her waist. Terror gripped her. The something had climbed up her skirts. It was the last thought she had before everything went black.
Colin should have known better.
When Cassandra had begged him to play their game, he’d given his usual excuse of being busy, but his daughter persisted, her brown eyes appealing to his renewed vow to be a better, more present father.
“Busy doing what?” she’d asked.
Failing miserably at finding his daughters a mother. But he couldn’t admit that to her, now could he?
With Lady Miranda no longer available, the only remaining unmarried lady present between the ages of twenty and forty who wasn’t a servant was the elfin menace. And she was out of the question. They’d kill each other in a month.
Resignation that he would have to go to London and face the ordeals of the Marriage Mart had left him in a foul mood.
He needed a diversion. The least he could do was appease his children and play with them.
He’d felt like an utter fool being the only adult to play. Poor Indira, the girl who confessed her hatred of the game the day before, had been designated the seeker.
Yet, both his daughters and the Weatherby girls had their heads together in a conspiratorial conversation.
“What do you think they’re talking about?” Ashton’s son, Charles, asked.
“Who knows,” his older brother, Edmund, answered. “Girls. Who understands them?”
Colin chuckled. A bright lad.
The thought of having his own son to commiserate with about the perplexities of the female sex poked at his brain and tugged at his heart. He heaved a sigh.
“Does it become any better?” Edmund asked.
“I’m afraid not,” Colin answered truthfully.
When the convention of femininity ended, and Indira began to count to the requisite one hundred, the rest of the group disbanded to find hiding places. While children easily tucked away into nooks and crannies, secreting oneself away was much more difficult for a grown man.
Cassandra gave his hand a tug. “This way, Father. I know a good spot.”
As she led him to the ballroom, he shook his head. “There’s no place here for me, Cassie.”
“Yes, there is.” She’d pointed to a small closet the servants used to store extra linens, punch bowls, and the like.
Pushing him in and closing the door, Cassie left in a fit of giggles.
Resigned, he’d taken a seat on the floor and made himself comfortable to wait it out, even hiding behind a small curtained area protecting the fine china from dust. If the children demanded he play, he would make damn sure they had a hard time finding him.
He’d chuckled to himself. They’d never ask him to play again!
If nothing else, he would enjoy the moment of peace and quiet he’d talked about to his daughters on their journey there.
At least it had been quiet. Until the door opened and someone else stepped inside.
The scent of sweet pea filled the tiny room. The familiar fragrance elicited tension in his shoulders as the shadowy figure of a petite woman joined him.
He remained deathly still. Pitch black in the minuscule space, perhaps she wouldn’t notice him. When he pulled himself into a tighter ball on the floor, he accidentally brushed against a broom.
Damnation.
Sharp, quick breaths sounded, followed by rustling skirts and scraping against the door.
Moments later, she shouted, “Indira! Let me out!”
Panic in her voice raised his own alarm. Why didn’t she simply open the door and exit?
He rose from his crouch and reached around her for the door handle, only to find it wouldn’t move.
Then she fainted. Dead in his arms.
The scamps! So this is what they were planning. He would have firm words with his daughters. But first he needed to get himself and Miss Weatherby out.
Crumpled in his arms, her body folded against his as he lowered them both to the floor. With no room to lie her down, he held her with one arm while he patted her cheeks.
Perhaps none too gently. But he was an honest man. He needed her alert, especially if anyone came to their rescue and found her lying on the floor with him hovering over her.
“Miss Weatherby. Miss Weatherby!”
His sight already adjusted to the lack of light, he breathed a sigh of relief when her eyelids fluttered and opened. Whites of her eyes glistened at him, and she blinked.
“Who is here?”
“It is I, Miss Weatherby. Lord Manning.” He softened his voice. “Colin.”
She bolted away from him and grasped his arms. “There’s a rodent in here! We must get out!”
“There is no rodent, Miss Weatherby.” At least he hoped not. He had nothing against the furry little animals, but he’d prefer not to see one. Or feel one crawling over his body.
“Something moved.”
“I’m afraid that was me.”
She blinked again. “You w-were hiding in here? But why?”
“The same reason you were, I imagine. However, I don’t recall you being involved in the game.”
“Ugh! Indira. I will strangle her. She hates the game and pleaded with me to help her find the other children.”
“She admitted as much to me the other day. But that doesn’t answer my question. Why are you hiding in here?”
“Someone is hiding under the staircase leading to the dais in the ballroom. Indira wanted me out of sight so they wouldn’t know she was cheating.”
“Ah. I suspect the person hiding there is my daughter, Cassandra, who led me here. And I also suspect your niece and my daughters have colluded to put us together. Especially considering the door is locked.”
She blinked again as if his words had finally registered. “You were playing hide and seek?”
With a shrug he wasn’t sure she could see, he said, “I decided to take your advice and be more playful with my children.”
“Yo-you did?”
“I did. But it appears to have backfired on me like a poorly loaded pistol.”
“Are we really locked in here?”
“It would appear so. But allow me to try again.” He rose and, after trying the knob again, banged on the door. “Cassie! Indira! This is not amusing. Let us out!”
Giggles sounded outside the door.
“Damnation, girls! Open this blasted door!”
“Sir, your language!”
Cold reality hit him in the face, more suffocating than the chilly waters of the lake—which coincidentally also involved the same petite redhead trapped in the room with him.
Perhaps the fates were telling him something.
His only hope for salvation would be if the girls themselves opened the door and he and Miss Weatherby could exit without being noticed by another adult.
Or if an adult discovered them, he could have the good fortune of it being either Grey or Lady Miranda. Surely, either of them would return the favor and remain silent? Grey in particular owed him.
He turned, finding himself pressed against Miss Weatherby. When had she risen and stood behind him?
Impossibly warm, enticingly soft. His breath trapped in his lungs as the heady scent of sweet pea eased into his nose and sent his mind spinning.
An overwhelming desire to wrap his arms around her and kiss her senseless surged through him.
The confined space was driving him mad. With more force than he expected, he swallowed the lump in his throat.
“I suggest you step back, Miss Weatherby.”
“Oh. Of course.”
Why did her voice sound shaky?
Was it fear or was their closeness affecting her as well?
Before he could ponder it further, she obeyed, taking her delicious warmth with her. But just as suddenly, a crash sounded behind her, and her arms flailed. She grabbed the first thing she could find to steady herself.
Which, unfortunately, was him.
They tumbled to the floor, and as he tried to regain his footing and assist her up, he slipped, falling into her yet again. As she did to him, he reached out, grasping at whatever he could, only to be greeted with a sickening ripping sound when the material from her gown tore in his hand.
Even in the dim light, he could see the sleeve of her gown hanging loose from the bodice. Things looked very bad indeed. “I beg your pardon.”
And as if things couldn’t get any worse, they did.
She began to cry, and Colin’s acrid panic seized his throat.
“Please, Miss Weatherby. Calm yourself.”
“Calm myself?! We will be left in here and starve to death. All they will find are our bones!”
He couldn’t help it; he rolled his eyes. “Are you always this dramatic? Why, the worst that will happen is someone—other than one of the girls—will find us, and with the state of your gown, and our tight confines, it will only end one way.”
She sniffled, seemingly somewhat comforted that they wouldn’t die of starvation. “Which way will that be?”
Snorting a derisive laugh, he answered. “I will have to marry you.”