Chapter 12
Drawing Room
Acklan Castle
Cori pushed out of a chintz chair and started toward the wall, a bit worried she might end up in the way of Mr. Atherton’s display of…nonsense.
"You don't have to do this, Arch.” Emma Atherton touched a hand to her temple as though to stave off a brother-related headache.
“Au contraire, my dear sister!” Mr. Atherton shrugged out of his jacket. “Gates has questioned my ability. I cannot let such a slight stand.”
Emma shook her head. “I would hardly call walking on one’s hands an ability, Archibald.”
“Of course you wouldn’t,” he returned good-naturedly, “because you can’t do it.”
Emma clamped her mouth closed, probably to keep from saying something she might regret later.
Mr. Atherton, now in just his shirt sleeves and waistcoat, handed his jacket to one of the Linthorpe footmen. “Don’t wrinkle it,” he said as he began rolling up his sleeves.
Emma cast an accusatory glance in Lucien’s direction. However, Lucien looked back at her, like the picture of innocence, even though he had set this whole thing into motion.
In the hours since breakfast, the drawing room had become the center of all activity at Acklan since the rain had yet to abate. A low thunder rumbled overhead while rain pinged against the windows, showing no sign of relenting.
"The terms, Atherton…" Lucien began from his chair where his cane rested across his knees. "Let’s be certain we’re clear on the terms."
"Oh, perfectly clear," Mr. Atherton agreed. "After I walk the length of the room on my hands without stopping, you must spend the next seven days paying me one sincere compliment per day. No irony. No qualifications. No following it with something cutting to restore your dignity."
“Witnessed by at least two people,” Lord Upwell tossed in from the other side of the drawing room, as he’d clearly been paying attention to the ridiculous wagering.
"Witnessed by at least two people,” Lucien agreed. “Not that it will come to that.”
"You should begin thinking of your compliments now,” Mr. Atherton said, sounding rather smug about the entire thing. “It is a foregone conclusion.”
“Should you fail…” Lucien began.
“I will not fail.”
“Ah.” Lucien smirked. “But for the sake of argument, let’s say that you did. You, Archibald Atherton, will spend one full day in complete silence.”
“I might like to see that,” Emma muttered under her breath, casting her brother a beleaguered expression.
“One full day,” Mr. Atherton agreed with a nod.
"From dawn to midnight,” Lucien continued.
“I know what a full day is, Gates.”
A spirited wager on a rainy afternoon caught everyone’s notice in the drawing room. Lady Upwell set down her embroidery. Hythe abandoned his gazette. Mr. Fairleigh closed his book. And the duchess turned her full attention to the matter at hand.
"Arch," Emma said again.
"Emma," he replied pleasantly.
"Don’t be foolish. You’re going to hurt yourself."
"I’m not going to hurt myself. I’ve been doing this since I was nine."
"Yes, well, you were considerably lighter at nine."
"That," Mr. Atherton said, his brow lifted in mock offense, "is an unkind observation from a loving sister and I’m choosing to ignore it entirely. Are we ready, Gates?"
"We have been ready for some time," Lucien said dryly.
Mr. Atherton moved to the far end of the drawing room, assessed the distance, and then crouched. He placed both of his hands flat on the Aubusson rug, and then kicked his legs into the air. He wobbled a tiny bit but steadied himself very quickly.
He moved with surprising balance, his arms bearing his weight easily, and the assembled room watched in collective silence. Lady Upwell's hand went to her mouth. The duchess tilted her head to the side. And Reverend Fairleigh made a sound that resembled a smothered laugh.
Mr. Atherton was going to make it. He’d already gone two thirds of the way across the room when Marmalade appeared in the middle of the rug.
No one saw where the kitten had come from.
He hadn’t been there the moment before, but then he was.
The kitten appeared completely uninterested by Mr. Atherton or his abilities.
In fact, Marmalade seemed to regard the gentleman’s approaching hands with the mildest of interest and showed no inclination of moving from his spot.
The gentleman saw the little orange kitten too late.
He attempted to redirect himself, but his arms wobbled and spectators gasped and then...
He fell to the rug with a soft thud.
Luckily, he’d managed to get a shoulder under himself, suggesting he had some prior experience with this sort of outcome. But he fell nonetheless.
The kitten pushed back to his paws and walked the short distance to where Mr. Atherton lay on the rug.
He leapt up onto the gentleman’s chest and looked Mr. Atherton directly in the eyes, just long enough to make his feelings on the matter plain.
Then he hopped back to the rug and made a direct path to the window seat, where he began cleaning his hind quarters.
Mr. Atherton remained on his back, looking up at the ceiling. "The cat," he said to anyone who cared to listen, "was not in the terms."
"The terms say you were to walk the length of the room without falling," Lucien said, composing himself with visible effort. "You fell."
"I was hindered by force majeure."
"Meaning you fell," Lucien said. His voice was steady, but his dark eyes twinkled with mirth.
The drawing room erupted into laughter. Even Lucien joined in, which was rare enough that more than one person looked over in surprise. Emma’s hand was pressed over her mouth and her shoulders trembled. The duchess made a sound of pure delight. Lord Upwell began to applaud.
Mr. Atherton sat up, looked over at Marmalade, who was still washing his nether regions on the window seat with complete indifference to any of the goings on in the drawing room.
“Dawn to midnight,” Lucien reminded his friend.
“I am aware of the terms,” Mr. Atherton said, with all the dignity he could muster under the circumstances.
Cori was laughing, her hand against her own mouth, when she felt a light touch on her arm.
She turned to find Cait beside her.
"Come with me," her sister said quietly. "I need to talk to you."
Cori followed her sister to a nearby sitting room and Cait closed the door behind them.
"Have you seen Cara?" Cait asked once they were alone.
“Not since this morning. Why?” Cori frowned.
Cait released a sigh. “I’ve been looking for her. Did she seem herself, do you think?”
If anyone did not seem themselves at the moment, it was Cait. “She was fine. What’s this about? You’re worrying me."
Cait was quiet for a moment. Then she moved to the window and looked out at the grey wet afternoon that seemed to stretch on forever. "Daniel told me something this morning," she finally said. "Something he thought I should know and something I think you need to know as well.”
Well, that was mysterious. “What is it?”
Cait turned back to face her and the grim expression on her face made Cori’s heart twist.
“You must promise not to tell Cara.”
“For pity’s sake, Cait. What is it?”
“Promise me.”
Good heavens! “I promise. Now what is going on?”
"Linthorpe received a letter yesterday," Cait told her.
James? “A letter?”
Her sister nodded. “From an old school friend with a regiment in France.”
Which meant absolutely nothing to Cori. She narrowed her eyes slightly on her sister who wasn’t making a bit of sense.
“The fellow mentioned seeing the Earl of Chopwell.”
Cori gasped at the name and a chill went through her. It was no wonder Cait wanted to keep this information from Cara. After what the fiend had done to their sister…
“He was in Valenciennes, a fortnight ago,” Cait continued.
The villain had fled across the Channel rather than face Reese on a field of honor some weeks ago. There had been no word of him, until now.
Cori clutched her hands together. “Goodness,” she muttered as the happenings that morning flashed in her mind. Reese stumbling upon them and not seeming at all himself. It made perfect sense now when reframed with this new information.
"Reese knows," she said. She would wager her last farthing on that fact.
Cait nodded in agreement. "Linthorpe shared the letter with him and Daniel this morning.”
Had he? She thought about James’ empty chair at breakfast.
Everything that had been sitting without explanation since she’d come down that morning rearranged itself in an instant. James’ absence wasn’t because of their kiss. He’d been in his study with Daniel and Reese, dealing with this unpleasant news.
She felt something loosen in her chest, relief that he hadn’t been avoiding her all day. “Well, what are they going to do? Why are we keeping this from Cara? She has a right to—”
“Because Reese wants to sail to France and shoot the blackguard where he stands.”
“I wish him luck,” Cori said. After all, the man had attacked their sister. She’d like to shoot the villain herself if given the chance.
“And wind up on the gallows for murder?” Cait asked. “Leaving our sister a widow in the process?”
Well, when put that way… Cori blew out a frustrated breath. “What then? What do they plan to do?”
"Linthorpe knows someone," Cait told her. "If the fellow can confirm that Chopwell is still in Valenciennes before anyone does anything foolish, it will give them time to sort a plan.”
“And we’re just to keep Cara in the dark until then?” That didn’t seem terribly likely.
“I don’t want her hurt again.”
“Neither do I.”
“Then help me keep an eye on her,” Cait said. “I suppose one on Reese as well. Daniel says he’s in a right state.”
“He didn’t seem himself this morning,” Cori told her.
“If you notice something, tell Daniel. He and Linthorpe will manage Reese, and we should manage Cara.”
Cori turned something over in her mind. "Why is His Grace involved?" she asked. After all, James hadn’t even been present when Chopwell attempted to harm Cara.