Chapter Four
There was, indeed, no rest for the weary.
At breakfast the next morning—“morning,” of course, falling somewhere between ten and eleven o’clock—the guests were told to report to the back garden for a picnic at noon.
Agatha sighed once before finishing her bowl of porridge.
She had intended to take advantage of the rare opportunity to partake in richer foods than she enjoyed at home, but Mrs. Warrick had chosen for herself a traditional breakfast of eggs, mushrooms, sausages, and liver pudding, so the large crowd at the morning meal had predictably made the same choice.
Porridge, however boring and commonplace, had been a faster option. Connoisseurs would have scoffed, but Agatha had always preferred efficiency in her meals. That likely came as a result of being the one who prepared those meals.
Father ran her to ground just as the large floor clock in the front entryway chimed the hour. “Agatha. What in heaven’s name are you doing in here? You are going to be late to the picnic.”
“Is there a picnic today?”
“Surely you—” Father narrowed his gaze. “You knew there was a picnic.”
She smiled and nodded. “I did. I was about to step outside when you arrived.”
“About to? It is noon. Everyone is already gathered in the garden.”
“Already?” She pulled her eyes wide. “What are we doing in here? We should hurry.”
For the briefest of moments, Father looked as though he meant to point out that he’d made the same insistent suggestion first. But in the end, he opted to simply take her arm in his and move swiftly to the terrace doors.
“You simply must find an opportunity to speak with Mrs. Warrick,” he said as he moved at an impressive clip toward the garden. “Be personable and sweet. Inquire after her health.”
Agatha nodded. “I will make certain to express my concern that she looks so pale and sickly.”
Absolute horror seized Father’s features. “Good heavens, Agatha. Do not say that. Please.”
“But you just said—”
“Could you not say something more along the lines of ‘How has your day been?’ or ‘What a pleasure to see you again’?”
She made a show of pondering the suggestion.
“Oh, Agatha.” He sighed. “Why is it you sometimes are the most sensible girl in all the world and at other times seem entirely witless?”
She really ought not to tease him as she did. “I will endeavor to be the sensible version of myself when conversing with Mrs. Warrick.”
“Can you be?” He truly seemed to doubt it.
“Mr. Downy can assure you of the intelligence of my conversation. We spent most of last evening in a very sensible discussion.” She couldn’t resist another quip. “Why, I hadn’t even a moment in which to offer Mrs. Warrick my food-cutting skills.”
“Which Mr. Downy?”
She hadn’t realized there was more than one. “Mr. Edward Downy.”
“The eldest,” Father said to himself, his eyes darting over the crowd. “Ah. Is that he, standing just to the side of the gazebo?”
She didn’t bother to hide her smile upon spying Mr. Downy there. His company had been thoroughly enjoyable the evening before, and she had secretly hoped to see him again today. “That is he.”
Father tugged her in that direction. “Perhaps he would be willing to keep you company again while I converse with the Warricks.”
This was an unforeseen boon. She might be granted more of Mr. Downy’s time simply because her attempts to avoid the expected flattering of her hostess made her father prefer leaving her in a gentleman’s company to sitting her beside the ladies.
“Mr. Downy.” Father didn’t pause long enough to even offer a bow of greeting. “Would you be so good as to keep my daughter company during the picnic?”
Mr. Downy stood in obvious surprised confusion. He didn’t manage a single word, a single sputter, before Father thanked him and rushed off toward the horde surrounding the Warricks.
If only sinking into the ground were an option. “I suppose I should be grateful.” She masked her embarrassment with an overly cheerful tone. “Most troublesome puppies are tied in bags and tossed into rivers, rather than handed over to the nearest gentleman.”
“Are you a troublesome puppy?” Humor twinkled in the back of his blue eyes.
“Well, I did just heavily imply that only your intervention last night prevented me from saying embarrassing things to Mrs. Warrick, which is likely why my father so eagerly handed me over just now.” She didn’t know whether to apologize or laugh.
“I suggested I might ask her this afternoon why it is she looks so pale and sickly.”
He laughed warmly. “Troublesome, perhaps, but effective.”
“I notice you’ve managed to neatly avoid the necessity of fawning over our hosts.”
He nodded. “One of the perks of being a gentleman who has reached his majority. I have nearly complete sovereignty over my decisions.”
She made a noise of pondering. “What would that be like, I wonder? A woman, no matter how old, never has anything approaching sovereignty over her own life.”
“I wish that weren’t so true.” His response was a sincere one. Everything in his mannerisms, in his tone, told her he did regret the lot women were given in the world. “My sister lived so much of her life defeated by her lack of choices. I didn’t realize it until recently.”
“Is she still feeling defeated?”
“I am happy to say that she is not. She found the courage to claim full ownership of the choices she did have and, in so doing, seized her own happiness.” The fondness in his tone told Agatha all she needed to know about his relationship with his sister. She liked him all the more for it.
Agatha eyed the spread of food. “Do you suppose many of the guests are at all hungry yet? Most of us ate our breakfast not an hour ago.”
“I predict that if the Warricks so much as mention the existence of food nearby, the guests will happily eat themselves ill.” That was truer than it should have been.
The crowd parted quite without warning, and Mr. Warrick emerged. He crossed toward the spot where Agatha and Mr. Downy stood. For the briefest of moments, she thought he meant to come speak with them. Mr. Downy’s sudden reticence told her he had the same suspicion.
But Mr. Warrick ascended the stairs of the gazebo instead and stood on its floor, placing himself a bit higher than his guests. After a quick clearing of his throat, he addressed them all.
“Thank you all for attending this picnic. As you, I am sure, have noticed, a variety of lawn games have been set up for your enjoyment. We have always”—he slowed on the word always, giving it both a hint of emphasis and warning—“enjoyed lawn games here at the Warrick estate.”
The response was immediate. The guests scrambled toward the various games, eager to prove that they, too, enjoyed such diversions.
The predictability of their reaction might have been entertaining if it hadn’t come as the direct result of desperation.
They weren’t bowing to the Warricks’ every whim out of a vain desire to be favored or fashionable.
Entire futures depended upon those whims.
“This is to be the first challenge, it seems,” Mr. Downy said. “An afternoon of not-so-friendly lawn competitions.”
“I only hope they have not included lawn darts in their assortment. That is a game best undertaken by those who are not attempting to eliminate one another.”
“Indeed.”
A gentleman near Mr. Downy’s age rushed past, but slowed long enough to call over, “Best move faster than that, old man. You’ll be out of an inheritance by dinnertime.”
“That taunting came courtesy of my old school chum,” Mr. Downy explained. “He means to throw himself wholeheartedly into this competition.”
Agatha eyed the rush of eager participants. “He does not appear to be the only one.”
The young gentleman Agatha suspected was the younger Mr. Downy hurried over to them, an eager-eyed young lady following close beside him.
“Edward, here you are,” the assumed brother said. “We need two more for quoits.”
“In the time you are taking to ask me to join you, someone else has likely claimed it,” Mr. Downy said.
But the new arrival shook his head. “We absconded with the equipment.”
His companion held out her hands, revealing several rope loops and a long, pointed stick.
Agatha pretended to be shocked. “Good heavens. We are surrounded by thieves.”
The younger Mr. Downy wasn’t the least deterred by her jest. “Desperate times, miss.”
“At least let me know what name I ought to give the squire when he arrives to collect the criminals.”
He turned to Mr. Downy. “I like her.”
“She is Miss Agatha Holmwood,” Mr. Downy said. “Miss Holmwood, this scamp is my brother, Mr. Thomas Downy.”
Mr. Thomas motioned to his partner in crime. “Henrietta Sumner.” Apparently, they wouldn’t be bothering with the formalities. “Will you join us for quoits? Henrietta heard Mrs. Warrick say that quoits is a particular favorite of hers.”
“You know how I feel about this, Tom.” Mr. Downy held his brother’s gaze.
Agatha, however, watched Henrietta. Beneath her angelic, serene exterior was something very like panic and the first threat of tears. If Agatha didn’t miss her mark, Henrietta was rather desperate to catch their hostess’s eye.
“Mr. Downy.” Agatha shook her head when both gentlemen turned toward her. The last strands of formality would have to be abandoned altogether. “Edward,” she clarified. “We may not care to play the Warricks’ game, but that doesn’t mean we cannot enjoy this one.”
He looked intrigued.
“Your brother and Miss Sumner risked life and limb to pillage the quoits set. The least we can do is round out their numbers so they can enjoy the spoils of their piracy.”
Edward’s subtle smile grew to a grin.
“I like her,” Tom repeated. “Come on, then.” While he eagerly began his departure without waiting for his brother, Tom made absolutely certain Henrietta was with him.
“How long have they been courting?” Agatha asked as they followed Tom and Henrietta’s path.