14. Conrad #2
Conrad chuckled and nudged Sage back to his seat. “Thank goodness for your rescuers,” he said, leaning his forearm on Sage’s shoulder and grinning at the other two.
Keelan was looking between them with a happy expression. “Silas is very good in a crisis.”
Silas shook his head, amused. “And how was your afternoon?”
“It was good. Long. I worked on spells with raw materials. Wyndham said raw materials work well with my magic, although I’m not sure how he knows.”
“He’s good at sensing,” Silas explained. “Probably the best on the Council, if I’m honest.”
They went into dinner, where the group described their walk.
There were a number of complaints about the pace the Ladies Fitzhugh had set.
Cyril was as put out about the state of the path as Sage had been.
But Harriet had strong opinions about her hosts staying inside while their guests had ventured out.
“I’ve barely seen either of you since I stepped foot in this house,” she proclaimed.
“You’re sitting right next to me,” Roger muttered.
She lifted her nose haughtily. “I shall require your attendance tomorrow.”
“What are we doing tomorrow?” Roger asked warily.
“You’re the hosts!” she said, exasperated. “You tell us what we’re doing tomorrow. But, it must be outside and it must be everybody.” She turned a beady eye around the table, as if daring anyone to refuse.
“If the weather permits,” Wyndham said, “perhaps we can dine al fresco during the day. I can send word to the kitchen to prepare us something suitable.”
Harriet beamed. “Excellent.”
“But I must request that we have chairs or blankets or something,” Cyril said. “I’m sure I couldn’t bear to get grass stains on my clothing. Don’t you agree, Mr. Ravenwing?”
Sage looked startled to be addressed directly, but he gave a prim nod. “Indeed. I would very much like to depart here with my clothes intact.”
Emrys snorted. “Is that the same thing you’ve asked Conrad? The poor fellow will have his work cut out for him in that case.”
“My condolences to your spouse,” Sage replied crisply, “if you cannot be trusted to discard their clothing in a careful manner.”
“He can’t,” Torquil said, taking a sip of wine. “And it isn’t just clothes either. You wouldn’t believe the number of cravat pins and hair combs that get lost on the floor or in the bedclothes. The man has no patience whatsoever.”
“Can you blame me?”
Wyndham groaned. “Must you discuss my brother’s proclivities while we’re eating? Or at all, for that matter?”
“I rather think he deserves it,” Keelan chuckled.
“I don’t mind,” Emrys said with a grin. “I’m quite proud of how satisfied I’ve been able to keep Torquil. Do you know that?—”
“Enough!” Wyndham said. “Yes, Cyril, we will supply blankets for the party tomorrow. I have no desire to see my clothes ruined either.” He glared at his brother and reached for his wine, taking a long pull.
“I’m sure you all must be exhausted from your walk,” Roger said. “Perhaps we ought to skip the riddles for tonight.”
Harriet gave a hearty laugh. “You won’t get out of it that easily. I have my next one ready to go. And it’s even more scandalous than the last one.”
Roger moaned uneasily. “Must you?”
But when they all settled into the sitting room once again, Roger made no further arguments, although he did pull Wyndham to sit beside him.
Conrad waited for Sage to take a seat in his usual spot near the hearth and then promptly sat down on the floor in front of him.
Sage tsked and passed him a pillow. Conrad grinned and moved to sit on top of it, which allowed him enough height to lean his arm across Sage’s thighs.
He took a sip of the wine he had brought in from dinner as everyone waited with anticipation for Harriet to find her next riddle.
“This is still under the bit about delicate sensibilities,” she warned them— with a particular look at Roger—and then she cleared her throat.
“All matters continental and Gallic I respect,
Be they culinary, sartorial, or aesthetic.
But epistoles and missives I appreciate the most,
Although of pressing news this type is unlikely to boast.”
Keelan made an annoyed sound. “They really must work on their rhyming. ‘Respect’ and ‘aesthetic’ is a bit of a stretch.”
Harriet lifted her chin. “I defy you to think of a better rhyme.”
“Especially with aesthetic,” Fern muttered.
Conrad took a sip of his wine and looked up at Sage. “Any ideas?”
Sage leaned forward, plucked the wine glass out of Conrad’s hand, and took a sip. “Gallic…” he murmured. “That’s to do with France, isn’t it?”
“You would know better than I would, with your fancy education,” Conrad replied with a smirk.
The rest of the group was shouting out answers while Harriet shook her head, getting more and more pleased by the moment.
Conrad took the glass back to sip some more wine.
“So let’s assume it’s France, or French,” he said quietly.
“I find these things often have a little more information than necessary, just to confuse people. The next bit has to do with epistles and missives.” He handed the glass back to Sage.
“Notes? Post? Letters?” He broke off and met Sage’s gaze.
Without another word, they both burst into laughter.
The rest of the room quieted and everyone turned to look at them expectantly.
“I take it you two have a guess?” Harriet said, looking giddy.
Conrad glanced at Sage. Sage gave a small smile as he looked down at the glass and swirled the remaining wine idly. “You say it this time.”
Conrad turned back to the group. “French letters.”
Emrys choked out a laugh.
“Really, Harriet,” Roger said, his face red. “You are incorrigible.”
“You’re lucky your mother doesn’t know about this book,” Lady Anthea said.
“I think those two have an advantage in answers such as that,” Lady Imogen added, waggling a finger in Conrad and Sage’s direction.
Fern chuckled. “Oh, I don’t know. You both knew what they were referring to.”
Cyril laughed. “Mm. What would your mother think about that, Anthea?”
“Let’s do another!” Harriet said, hopping in her seat.
“Let’s do another on a different night,” Wyndham said firmly. “I’m sure you’re all quite tired from your walk. I know we are all quite tired from our work. And we shall all be in the sun tomorrow. Better to get our rest.”
Conrad didn’t move from his seat on the cushion. He grinned up at Sage, who was still looking at the wine as he swirled it, as if mesmerized. “I knew we’d make a good pair.”
Sage hummed. “Yes, geniuses at salacious riddles.” He tipped the glass towards Conrad. “Do you want the last of it?”
Conrad smiled, not bothering to point out that it had been his wine. “You can have it.” He watched as Sage drained the glass and then stood and held out his hand. “Come on. Let’s go upstairs.”