Chapter 17 #2
I met Davis’s eyes. He suspected something, but what? If he knew Harriet was the owner of the glove I kept with me, he would know whose hand I would have picked.
Brookhouse was unaware of the communication happening silently between Davis and me. He bumped Davis on the shoulder. “Tell us the name of the woman with whom you share a secret.”
My eyes flew to Miss Blackwell’s. Hers were wide, and then they were gone, looking down at the cards still strewn about the table.
I shook my head and absentmindedly put a hand to my breast pocket.
Brookhouse was wondering about the owner of the glove, not the woman who stayed with me overnight.
Why had I thought of Miss Blackwell first?
“Did you win, Brookhouse?” I asked roughly. “Let Davis make his own decisions.”
“That’s a good one,” Davis said slowly, “but I won’t choose it. Tell us instead your fondest dream, Captain.”
Brookhouse groaned and dropped his head to Davis’s shoulder. “What a waste.”
Perhaps it was a waste, for the answer to that was simple.
I saw that dream every night while I was at war: Applewood, Papa, May, and Arthur, all there. Me, young again, with no wars and no death—simply living. But that wasn’t the kind of dream these men wanted. It was nothing I could reach for. The time for that kind of life had come and gone.
“I want a simple life.” My eyes raised to Harriet’s.
She watched me intently. She knew of all of my heart's desires, for I’d shared them with her six years ago.
In fact, she’d helped form them. “A wife,” I said softly, and her eyes darted down.
I cursed myself for showing my hand too clearly, and followed her lead, making my eyes focus elsewhere.
Unfortunately Miss Blackwell sat next to Harriet and I caught her eyes instead.
“Children,” I said, my voice low, but carrying.
“To love and be loved in a place called home.”
Miss Blackwell swallowed hard. It was time to look down, look away, look anywhere but at the two women who sat across from me, but something about the way Miss Blackwell returned my gaze confused me.
Her brows were furrowed as if I’d confused her.
Did she think I hadn’t wanted those things?
They were mostly universal, weren’t they?
Her eyes dropped first and whatever spell had tied us together for that moment broke. I glanced back at Harriet, who wore a soft smile on her face. I’d finally said something that pleased her.
Brookhouse snorted. “That could be any man’s dream. Can’t you share any more specifics?”
“I answered the question honestly, Brookhouse. You can be specific on your own forfeit.”
Mr. Howard clapped his hands. “It sounds as though Lieutenant Brookhouse desires to be next. You strike me as the kind of man who will enjoy most any forfeit, which makes this especially difficult.”
“Because you don’t want me to enjoy it?” Brookhouse asked.
“Of course not,” Mr. Howard said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. He looked at all of us to see if we agreed. He was met with unanimous nods. “I’m afraid I’ll need the help of your friends to decide on one. Would reciting a poem be suitable?”
“Definitely not,” Davis said before I could. Brookhouse knew too many poems unfit for mixed company.
“Why not?” Brookhouse said with a less-than-distinguished pout. “I have a few great ones memorized.”
“Not a poem, then,” Mr. Howard agreed.
Brookhouse grinned. “I could invite one of the ladies to dance, right here in the drawing room.”
Miss Blackwell shook her head violently, giving Brookhouse a hard stare. “With Mrs. Wickerton in the room? The story would spread all across Derbyshire, if not England.”
I glanced over at the older woman. She was speaking fervently to Mrs. Blackwell, all the while pointing at a small book she held in her hand.
“You could have him tell us all a secret. T’would serve him right,” Davis suggested.
Mr. Howard glanced at Brookhouse, but he said nothing for or against the idea. In fact, he sat completely still. “I think we are on the right track, but it needs something more. Captain, how can we make this forfeit even more painful for your friend?”
I grinned. He shouldn’t have suggested such a dangerous forfeit and now it was time he paid the price. There was nothing better than making Brookhouse squirm. He did it so rarely. “He is too comfortable with the five of us. He should tell his secret to Mrs. Wickerton.”
Miss Blackwell disguised a laugh with a cough and I’d finally made Harriet’s dimples emerge. Brookhouse said nothing, but his grin had been wiped off his face.
Mr. Howard narrowed his eyes at him. “Yes, I think that will do. Tell a secret to Mrs. Wickerton, but be certain to do it at a time when we can all be present. Otherwise we will have no proof.”
“It will end up in that book of hers,” Miss Blackwell stated. “But I’ve never seen it leave her side, so I suppose witnesses will still be necessary.”
“Done,” said Brookhouse, still with no smile on his face, but I detected a slight gleam in his eye when he answered. Heaven help us all. Hopefully we hadn’t just made a terrible mistake.
“Miss Pryor.” Davis’s deep voice brought us back to reality. “Are you ready for your forfeit?”
Harriet closed her eyes tightly. “Please be kind.”
I kicked Davis underneath the table. “He will be, won’t you?”
Davis didn’t even wince at my kick. “Of course I will be.” He thought for a moment and then raised his head. “Tell us who you admire most in the room.”
My heart stilled, but Harriet didn’t seem affected at all. She smiled broadly at Davis’s question as I tried to catch her eye. We hadn’t communicated silently very well during cards, but for this? What was her plan?
She barely glanced at me, though, instead turning to Miss Blackwell and grabbing her hands. “This is easy. Evelyn, of course.”
Harriet was so carefree and happy at that moment, but Miss Blackwell didn't laugh or smile in return. She pressed her lips together and swallowed hard, then threw her hands around her cousin and pulled her close, whispering something in Harriet's ear.
When she drew away, unshed tears made her gray eyes shine like a morning sky streaked with veins of blues and silvers. The light from the candles danced in them.
“Well,” Mr. Howard said, clearing his throat after giving the cousins a moment. “I’m afraid it is your turn next, Miss Blackwell.”
She wiped away the shine that had gathered below her lashes. “Do your worst. I’m not afraid.”
“You aren’t?” Mr. Howard asked. “Perhaps you should be.”
She only lifted her chin in response.