Chapter 8
Idiots, the lot of them.
Henry had cataloged the group as they’d first entered.
He’d taken note of who had come and who was missing, had memorized who was native to the island, and had committed a few men for a card game in a few days’ time, though he hadn’t a clue how he would get anyone to talk without drinks.
But now he was distracted by the scene in front of him.
What was it about a simple drawing room game that turned young men into complete fools?
He watched as Lord Danbury struggled, blindfolded, to find a member of the party playing blind man’s bluff.
Henry would swear that the man was peeking beneath the handkerchief though, as he kept conveniently missing every other gentleman that passed by and lurching in the direction of the women instead.
If anyone had pressured Henry to join, then he would have been more than happy to tell them he had no great love for the game.
But no one had even spoken to him since dinner; they seemed content to allow him to keep to himself.
It had been some time since he’d truly been out in society, rather than behind the closed doors of his club, at the card tables, or meeting with investors, but he recognized the signs of wariness that the other party members showed.
Despite his best efforts, some truth of his circumstances must be filtering out into the ton, which was just more reason for him to get Julia married before any whispers became louder.
Except he couldn’t get his sister married per their agreement.
He had to hope she would decide to herself.
Which would be a great deal easier if she’d attend an activity.
After missing that morning’s games, she had kept to herself all afternoon, then claimed a headache immediately after dinner; at this point Henry wouldn’t need to fake one to follow her.
His skull ached with the constant perusal of guests and considerations as to what he would do next.
He couldn’t recall this being so difficult before.
Was it lack of practice? Was it his knowledge of the stakes? Was he just getting old?
Not even thirty, and he could no longer keep up.
Behind the farce playing out in front of him, he saw Mr. Gregory enter the room.
He walked with the barest of limps, and lines were becoming apparent on his face, but he likely had not yet passed fifty years.
That afternoon, he had, grudgingly, shared that indeed he’d been a captain in the navy.
He’d seemed reluctant to part with the information, and surprised Henry had asked.
As Henry could see no reason for the man to keep his service quiet, Gregory had just taken the top spot on his suspect list.
He rolled his neck to release some tension as he stood, crossing the room to where Lieutenant Carruthers was, not wanting to set on Gregory before the man had a chance to settle.
Though Carruthers did not live on the island, he might be able to point Henry toward additional men who had served in the navy with him.
Though a dock worker was not likely to be the mastermind behind the Gentleman Pirate’s attacks, these sorts of bands had dozens of men.
If Henry could find even one, he could follow the trail up to the man in charge.
But putting his feet one in front of the other proved nearly painful. His head thrummed with pressure, and his throat ached. He needed a drink. And there wasn’t a blasted one to be had at this party.
It was not as if he were a drunkard by any means. He simply appreciated a strong drink with his dinner or his game of cards. But apparently he would not be getting one for several weeks. Over a month even. Not here at least.
Maybe he’d have to return to Dunsmore for some subpar brandy. He groaned.
“Do you not like blindman’s bluff, Sir Henry?”
He twisted, not realizing he’d been passing his hostess. Her back was ramrod straight as she sat watching the group playing the game, but then her chin tilted up to meet his eyes. A single brow lifted.
Henry’s hand itched to rub at his temples. “I have never been a fan of parlor games, to own the truth.”
A flash of hurt crossed her face, and guilt settled in his stomach. He should have taken more care with his words before unintentionally calling into question her choice of activity.
“Well,” he added, eager to erase any amount of pain he might have caused, “I did enjoy them at one point. I think they have just lost their appeal as I’ve gotten older.
Does that make me boring? It likely does.
The other guests are clearly enjoying themselves.
” A squeal of delight from the young lady that Danbury had just caught punctuated his remark.
One of the watching guardians clapped their hands and shouted something to the couple.
Henry raised his brows and tilted his head in that direction, as if to emphasize his point.
Mrs. Seymour stood, speaking in an undertone. Her words were a touch slow, as if she were uncertain about sharing them. “I do not particularly enjoy parlor games either. My husband loved them though, so it feels a shame not to include them.”
That was not the first time she’d mentioned doing something for the sake of her late husband.
She must have cared for him a great deal to continue doing things she disliked for his memory.
“Were you married long?” Henry asked, though perhaps he should have thought through the question first. What if she did not wish to speak so personally?
But she had, after all, brought the man up herself.
She adjusted her gloves, attention on her hands. “Under two years.”
He pushed his luck by asking a second question. “How long ago did he pass?” She was clearly not in mourning. At least not officially.
“Just shy of four years.”
“Was your acquaintance lengthy before marrying?”
“A month or two.”
“Hmm.” She really must have loved the man, if after such a short period of time, she still honored him by throwing parties every year. The fact sent a tightness through him that he did not particularly want to examine. His eyes shot across the room to Gregory. The man had moved. Where had he—
“Oh dear,” Mrs. Seymour said suddenly, taking a step forward.
Henry followed her gaze to where Julia had just entered the room.
As he watched, she was blocked from moving by the newest blindfolded gentleman: Lord Jennings.
He was older than Henry by probably half a decade but the epitome of a Corinthian, with his broad and athletic build.
He collided with Julia and almost sent her to the ground before fumbling to grasp her about the waist.
As was expected for the game, he immediately began trying to discover who he had. “Miss Watts?” he asked after trailing his hands up to her shoulders.
Julia stood frozen in either shock or confusion.
Then Lord Jennings lifted his blindfold. His eyebrows rose in surprise before a smile curled his lips.
Henry stepped forward, and Mrs. Seymour matched the action. The man had been holding his sister for far too long. Had his hands just tightened on her waist?
“Miss Ainsley. I am happy to see you’ve joined us,” Lord Jennings said. He was possessed of a charming and rather intense air.
Julia’s air was decidedly unimpressed. “Yes, well . . . ” She disentangled herself from the man’s grip, crossing her arms. Her eyes glanced around the room, seeing all the attention on her.
Henry had reached the circled chairs now, but Mrs. Seymour moved deftly between them to the couple. “I am sorry, Lord Jennings, without guessing the correct young lady, you must restart your turn.”
Lord Jennings did not seem upset in the least. Henry eyed the man as he returned his blindfold.
He was a viscount from a town in Kent. Henry’s only interaction with him had been benign—surface-level conversation about the man’s mother, that this was his first visit here, and that he had a preference for pall mall over lawn bowls.
He’d seemed harmless enough, and as he was from across the Channel, Henry had no other reason to suspect him of being a part of the piracy.
But if he showed an increase in attention toward Julia, perhaps Henry might need to spare some time to know him more particularly.
He wanted Julia married, but to a good man.
As the game resumed, Mrs. Seymour took Julia’s arm, saying something in a low voice to her that brought a smile to Julia’s face. But then Mrs. Seymour approached another gentleman at the edge of the group, introduced the two of them, then apparently left Julia to the man’s care.
Julia did not seem thrilled to find herself with a gentleman companion, but she hid it well.
Henry observed the whole thing from his spot just outside the group.
His face broke into a slow smile. It would appear that Mrs. Seymour was a far more adept matchmaker than Henry.
Was it possible that she would take up the charge Henry had been forced to abandon?
Brilliant. That would work very well in his favor.
He turned his back on the game, finishing his route to Lieutenant Carruthers, eyes scanning for Gregory. The man had entirely disappeared. His wife sat in a circle of women, chatting, but Gregory had only been in the room for ten minutes at most. Why make an appearance only to leave?